


Cursed

by bccaw



Series: Cursed [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Good Severus Snape, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Severus Snape Lives, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 100,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bccaw/pseuds/bccaw
Summary: Hermione wakes up in the infirmary after the final battle, unable to move. She has been cursed by Voldemort, and it seems that Professor Snape is the only one who can help her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Series: Cursed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882897
Comments: 49
Kudos: 152





	1. The Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first novel-length fic I ever wrote. There is a second part, titled "The Seventh Year". The first book is conservative, but the second will be rated mature.

“Her parents seem to have disappeared.”  
  
“HERMIONE!”  
  
“What’s wrong with her?! Is she-”  
  
“She’s breathing, Harry! She’s alive! Hermione!”  
  
“HERMIONE!”  
  
“BOYS! Stop shouting at once! She has not responded to-”  
  
“Please, Madam Pomfrey! She’s – is she going to be alright?”  
  
“If you would let me speak – Harry – I, that is, we don’t know yet what sort of curse hit her.”  
  
“But – what’s wrong with her? She looks fine!”  
  
“Mr. Weasley – Ron, dear – we really can’t say. She appears to be asleep, but as I’m sure you know, that could mean many things.”  
  
“Whatever it is, it must be awful! Volde-”  
  
“I must insist that you both get back to your beds this instant! You need to rest, you are very weak.”  
  
“I’m FINE! I haven’t been hit by a curse from Voldemort – but SHE has and she’s my friend! If you think I’m just going to go to sleep now, you can-”  
  
“Harry . . .”  
  
It was Dumbledore’s gentle reproof that brought Hermione fully to consciousness. How could it be? Hermione tried to open her eyes, but they seemed to be glued shut. She grew desperate – she had to see if she had imagined that familiar voice! Soon, her questions were answered.  
  
“Professor Dumbledore? How did you get here?”  
  
“It was thought that I might be able to help Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said gravely. “My portrait has been moved here so that I may observe her.”  
  
Hermione struggled again to open her eyes, but no part of her body would obey her. Her nose itched, but she could not so much as wrinkle it.  
  
“You’ll be able to figure it out, won’t you? If the healers don’t know what to do, you’ll figure it out?”  
  
Harry sounded much younger than his seventeen years.  
  
“I certainly hope so,” was all Dumbledore said in reply.  
  
“How is Severus? Still no change?”  
  
“I left another healer with him in case he wakes, but I’ll go now to check again myself.”  
  
“We will need his expertise.”  
  
“Is Snape - hurt very badly?” asked Harry tentatively, after soft, quick footsteps signaled that Madam Pomfrey had gone.  
  
“ _Professor Snape,_ Harry, and yes, I believe so,” said Dumbledore in the same grave tone.  
  
Nobody spoke for a while.  
  
“He doesn’t look good, not good at all.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey had returned.  
  
“And we have no idea what to do for him! Albus, I’ve never been so useless,” her voice cracked. She seemed to have forgotten that Harry and Ron were there. Hermione had never heard her sound so vulnerable.  
  
Hermione tried again to open her eyes. She had to tell them that she was all right and not to worry. She did not feel any pain and she could think clearly, now if only if she could find the strength to move!  
  
“Is she – do you think – in pain?”  
  
Harry sounded like he was about to cry as well. Shaky breathing filled the silence.  
  
Finally, Madam Pomfrey spoke kindly.  
  
“It’s time to get some rest, boys, you can’t do anything for her by staying up. I promise, if anything happens, I will come and get you right away. The healers are going to help me keep watch every moment.”  
  
Hermione was left alone. She could hear the ragged breaths of the other wounded, and she knew that Dumbledore’s portrait was hanging somewhere above her head, but nobody else spoke that night. She was wide awake, but still could not open her eyes. She gave up trying and focused on her racing thoughts.  
  
What had happened to her? She could remember only small parts of the battle at Hogwarts. She remembered Fred, Tonks, and Remus lying dead. She could not even cry about it, though her heart was breaking. And Fred! How would George ever live without him?  
  
Voldemort had gotten tired of waiting for Harry and invaded the castle before the time limit was up. She remembered that Professor Snape had appeared in battle, after they had all thought he was dead. The first thing he had done was kill Nagini, ripping the sword from Neville’s hand and lopping her head off with a great, guttural yell.  
  
Neville had stood there with his mouth hanging open in shock, momentarily forgetting that he was in the middle of a battle. Snape had shielded him from a few curses before pushing him out of the way.  
  
After that she remembered nothing but darkness and falling. Hermione was getting tired, and since her eyes were already closed it was easy to drift off to sleep again. She could not tell if the darkness was a memory or merely sleep overtaking her thoughts.  
  
The next time Hermione woke, she could tell it was morning. The light on the other side of her eyelids warmed her vision and once again she tried to open her eyes to no avail. She began to panic, but could not move or call out for help. She could not even swallow or take a deep breath. She soon found that she could not even stop breathing – her body would not obey any request.  
  
“Good morning, Albus,” was Madam Pomfrey’s soft greeting, which came from somewhere near Hermione’s head.  
  
“I just came to tell you that Severus is...” she paused, “...looking worse. I don’t know if he will be able to help Miss Granger after all.”  
  
Hermione despaired at those words. Was that it? Her only hope was Professor Snape, who was dying? Surely there was someone else!  
  
Madam Pomfrey spoke again.  
  
“The papers are already asking about him. He’s a hero and he’ll never know it – he’s going to die knowing only how we hated him this year and we’ll,” she sniffed, “never get to thank him!”  
  
“Poppy,” said Dumbledore, “you must calm yourself and think clearly... for Miss Granger's sake.”  
  
“And she’ll never hear it either.”  
  
Hermione felt a hand stroke her face.  
  
“Brave girl.”  
  
The hand was gone. Madam Pomfrey’s footsteps faded away.  
  
_What have I done?_  
  
Hermione still could not remember what had happened to her. What had Harry said last night? Or it had been Ron? Something about her being hit by a curse from Voldemort?  
  
Harry had gone to Dumbledore’s office with Snape’s memories. She remembered entering the Great Hall with Harry and Ron after the Shrieking Shack. Voldemort had told Harry he had an hour to come out, but he had lied. He entered the castle and the battle began again. Hermione remembered Snape killing Nagini and shielding Neville, effectively shocking everyone who thought he was dead and on Voldemort’s side. Harry must not have made it to Dumbledore’s office, because he had appeared in the Great Hall right after Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He had died.  
  
She had seen the killing curse hit Harry and watched his body fall while cries of despair echoed around the hall. It happened without ceremony. As soon as Harry appeared Voldemort had killed him. His laugh still rang in her ears.  
  
Had she only imagined Harry last night? That thought tortured Hermione for a long while. She began to wish she was dead. If she had imagined Harry last night, she must have imagined Ron as well. How many others had died after she fell and why was she still alive when everyone that mattered in the universe was gone. What hope was there if Harry had not succeeded?  
  
Hermione listened intently to the sounds around her. Hushed voices and muffled footsteps were her only distraction from her thoughts. Once, she thought she heard Dumbledore’s portrait snoring.  
  
_Maybe I’m only dreaming. I’m going to wake up in the tent with Harry and Ron and we’re going to keep searching for Horcruxes. There was no battle; nobody is dead yet. It’s all been a long, horrible dream._  
  
But Hermione could not believe that the sounds around her were not real. Then, she heard voices near her bed.  
  
“Yes, I am one of the lucky ones, Poppy.”  
  
It was Professor McGonagall.  
  
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you alive, Minerva!”  
  
The rustling of fabric suggested that they were embracing. There was a long pause.  
  
“What about Harry? When I saw him fall-”  
  
Hermione wished she could howl with misery.  
  
“He’s fine! Not a scratch on him, Minerva. I don’t know how it happened, or what sort of power that boy has. He has done the impossible twice now!”  
  
“The boy-who-lived,” said McGonagall reverently.  
  
Harry was truly alive! It was impossible – but then, it was Harry. And Ron must really have made it as well! Hermione thought she would explode with happiness. That must mean that it was over for good. Voldemort was gone.  
  
Hermione had gone from wishing she could get up and throw herself out of a window to desperately wanting to live in less than thirty seconds. Why didn’t they come visit her? She needed to hear their voices again.  
  
“Well, Albus? Have you any ideas?”  
  
McGonagall was very close to her now.  
  
“I know of no curse which would cause this,” the portrait said.  
  
“And the other portraits?”  
  
“I am in the process of interviewing them,” he replied, “but so far, I've found nothing. I will be in the office if you need me.”  
  
There was a short silence, and Hermione assumed that Dumbledore had left them. McGonagall spoke.  
  
“How is Severus?”  
  
“Not good, Minerva, not good at all.”  
  
“What about Horace? Is he awake yet? Perhaps he can help.”  
  
“He’s still not quite himself,” said Madam Pomfrey, “but he looks much stronger this morning.”  
  
Another silence followed and Hermione felt one of the women pat her arm.  
  
“Where is Severus?” asked McGonagall quietly.  
  
“Next to the rose window, at the end.”  
  
McGonagall left, but Madam Pomfrey kept her hand on Hermione’s arm, and then felt her forehead and her pulse.  
  
“You’re in perfect health, Miss Granger. I can’t find a thing wrong with you and that rosy glow is certainly not from a fever.”  
  
The older woman stood over her for a few more minutes before removing her hand and walking away. Before she was gone, Hermione heard quick footsteps pounding the floor.  
  
“He's gone!” said a voice.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Severus is gone!”  
  
“Oh, Minerva, I don’t believe it!”  
  
Two sets of footsteps rushed from the room.


	2. The Return

Hermione was terrified. Dumbledore had said that they needed Professor Snape to figure out what was wrong with her. What about the other healers? Where were _they?_ Why was it up to Madam Pomfrey, a portrait, and a dying man to save her?  
  
Hermione was angry, but she soon realized that Snape must be the only person who was not dead or in Azkaban who knew enough about dark magic to help her. He simply could not die when they still needed him! She knew that she was being unfair and possibly ungrateful, but she wanted to live. What if she was trapped in this state forever? What if she spent the rest of her life in a bed, unable to speak to anyone?  
  
After a while, her friends would forget about her and her parents would remain blissfully unaware that their only daughter was a prisoner in her own body. She would spend the rest of her life in St. Mungo’s with Neville’s parents. Whatever it was she had started with Ron while hunting horcruxes would never become a real relationship. Hermione wished she was able to cry, or somehow relieve her raging emotions.  
  
After a while it occurred to Hermione that perhaps 'gone' did not mean dead, and she could only hope that was the case. However, she had no reason to believe that Snape would stick around long enough to help her. While it appeared he had been loyal to Dumbledore after all, nobody alive truly knew him or his motivations.  
  
Hermione was alone until nightfall. Healers came and went, checking her periodically for signs of change. She overheard them saying that in a few days anyone who needed further treatment would be moved to St. Mungo's, which sent her into a deep spiral of despair.  
  
There was no change in Hermione’s status. She continued to feel fine, great even, except for the fact that she could not move. Once, Hermione had to sneeze, but her body refused. She lay there for what seemed like an eternity while her nose itched and burned and thought she might prefer a little pain.  
  
Finally, she heard whispers and approaching footsteps.  
  
“You go on,” said Harry. “I guess you might want to be alone for a bit.”  
  
“Yeah – uh, thanks, Harry. Just watch out for mum, if she sees me out of bed she’ll-”  
  
“I will, Ron. Go on.”  
  
Cautious steps came nearer to her bed and stopped. She felt him fall into a chair that she had not realized was there. He sighed a few times before he spoke, and when he did his voice cracked.  
  
“Her-mione,” said Ron unsteadily, “you’ve got to be ok. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you too-”  
  
He drew a loud breath and stopped for a while.  
  
“I’m sorry I was so stupid before this year,” he said, “for all the times I was stupid, and for wasting time I could have been with you this year. You shouldn’t have waited for me. Probably should’ve stayed with Krum.”  
  
Hermione was smiling at him in her mind. She wanted to tell him to shut up. She knew he didn’t really believe what he was saying.  
  
“You were amazing, Hermione, you’re the bravest person I know. Even Harry doesn’t think he could have done what you did.”  
  
 _WHAT DID I DO?!_  
  
Hermione wanted to scream at him. Why did everyone keep saying that she was so brave?  
  
“Ron!” Harry’s voice interrupted her thoughts.  
  
“Snape’s coming!”  
  
Hermione's heart leapt. Snape was miraculously alive and well! But if Harry could survive the killing curse twice, why couldn’t Snape be walking down the hall now, after being at death's door?  
  
Hermione was joyous; she would have been beaming if she had been able to move her face. Professor Snape was alive. He was going to help her!  
  
“Well, Miss Granger certainly seems to be enjoying your company, Weasley, though I can’t imagine why.”  
  
Professor Snape’s voice was the same as ever but it had probably never filled anybody with as much happiness as it did Hermione at that moment.  
  
“WHAT?”  
  
“Is that your idea of a joke, Severus? Shame on you!”  
  
A chorus of indignant voices alerted Hermione that Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall, and Mrs. Weasley had arrived as well.  
  
“I am perfectly serious, Madam. Do I look like I’m joking?”  
  
Snape let his disgust hang in the air for a moment.  
  
“Miss Granger, do not misunderstand me – you are in grave danger, no matter what nonsense Weasley might whisper in your ear.”  
  
There was silence. Hermione imagined Mrs. Weasley was ready to explode with protective anger, but Hermione could not be angry with Snape because she was so happy that he was alive.  
  
“You mean, she’s – awake? She can hear us?”  
  
McGonagall sounded frightened.  
  
“Yes,” he replied calmly. “At the moment she is extremely – happy - about something. I attempted to enter her mind as I stood in the doorway, to see if she responded to anything Weasley said. I was immediately assaulted with her emotion. She is very much awake.”  
  
“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley cried. “Hermione! How terrible! Of course it’s wonderful that you’re still with us, but to be trapped in there! Oh-”  
  
Hermione felt her body enveloped in a bear hug. She could hear them all calling to her, telling her they were there and how happy they were. Ginny and Luna were there as well, but soon she could not tell what anyone was saying because they were all talking at once.  
  
“Perhaps- ”  
  
Snape’s voice rang out above the din. Everyone grew quiet and he continued.  
  
“Perhaps Miss Granger might like to have her eyes open for this... occasion?”  
  
“Oh yes, I didn’t even think-” said Madam Pomfrey quickly. Hermione heard people shuffling out of the way and then a cool hand rested on her forehead and fingers gently touched her eyelids. She felt a slight tingle of magic and desperately hoped they would open.  
  
She could not wince at the light that flooded in and could not refocus her eyes, so she stared up at a blurry ceiling. Apparently she had been looking at something rather close to her face when she was frozen. She expected the urge to blink to irritate her, but it did not come.  
  
“Sit her up,” Snape commanded.  
  
Hermione unwillingly stared at her legs under the sheets while she was pulled forward and propped up with pillows. Finally Madam Pomfrey leaned her back and rearranged Hermione’s arms neatly in her lap. She was in Hogwarts infirmary, but her bed was curtained off with white sheets and she had quite a spacious section to herself.  
  
“Hi Hermione,” said Ginny sweetly, leaning into her view from the side of the bed.  
  
Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was bruised, but she was smiling. The rest of them began to lean over the bed and greet her all over again. She was very glad to see everyone, but not being able to greet them back really put a damper on the excitement. They stood there smiling and telling her how brave she was for a while and she grew more and more frustrated that she could not ask them why.  
  
“Madam.”  
  
Snape was speaking in a low voice to the left of the bed.  
  
“Severus?”  
  
“I must begin immediately.”  
  
“Yes, of course... of course, but how are you feeling? You were so weak before, I hope you are not hiding anything from us.”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“I’m not sure I believe that,”  
  
“Believe it,” he said, “or don’t, but if you don’t soon get these people out of here, this little reunion might end unpleasantly.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey complied.  
  
“Come on everyone, Professor Snape needs to get to work and you all need to get back to your own beds. I’m sure Hermione will be glad to see you in the morning.”  
  
Hermione heard them telling her goodbye and leaving together.  
  
Meanwhile, Snape was checking the meticulous notes by the bedside. Hermione knew they all said the same thing – she had heard a healer say so. No change, no change, that’s what they all said.  
  
Suddenly, she realized that Professor Snape was seated on the bed in front of her. He was stared at her for a while, looking thoughtful. Finally, he spoke.  
  
“Miss Granger, I am going to attempt to use Legilimency to communicate with you. Do not be frightened... and do not fight it.”  
  
Hermione waited, not knowing what to expect. Legilimency sounded fascinating, but from how Harry had described it was not a pleasant experience.  
  
Nothing happened. Snape spoke again.  
  
“I am going to ask you some questions. Say your answer as forcefully in your mind as you can. Direct it toward me, imagine it leaving your head and flying at me. If you want to show me something you remember, picture it in your mind and concentrate on it. Let it take up your whole mind.”  
  
Then he was silent again and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked straight into hers and she saw his lips move. She could not look away. It felt like there was empty space in her head and she could only describe the other sensation as humming or buzzing. She waited for something else to happen.  
  
“Can you still hear me?” he asked.  
  
 _YES!_  
  
Hermione thought as loudly as she could and imagined it hitting him between the eyes.  
  
He kept staring into her eyes without speaking, making Hermione wish she had the ability to look away. She was about to try again, when he spoke.  
  
“Good,” he said, which he had never said to Hermione before. “That was very clear. However, if you continue assaulting me with your thoughts I’m going need a headache potion.”  
  
Hermione was amazed – she had never heard of anyone using Legilimency this way. Generally, the other person either did not know what was happening, or was resisting. She was also amazed that Snape sounded so – kind – when he spoke to her. Well, almost kind, anyway. Sounding almost kind was not something Professor Snape did. Perhaps being cursed had its advantages.  
  
 _Better?_ Hermione asked cautiously, still concentrating on his forehead, where she imagined she was sending her thoughts.  
  
 _Yes._  
  
Hermione was startled by the sensation of his answer in her head. It did not sound like anything, of course, but it was distinctly his voice. She did not like it. It made her head feel crowded and intruded upon.  
  
 _Don’t!_  
  
He blinked and the empty, buzzing sensation left her head.  
  
“If you prefer, I will speak aloud,” he conceded.  
  
He met her eyes once more and in a moment was listening to her thoughts again.  
  
“Do you have any pain?” he asked immediately.  
  
 _No,_ she answered, relieved to finally be able to explain, _but sometimes my nose itches. I can’t sneeze. But I don’t have to blink. I can’t stop breathing, I tried, but-_  
  
“Miss Granger,” Snape interrupted her. His voice was uncharacteristically calm, perhaps because he was trying not to break the connection between them.  
  
“I cannot understand you when you chatter that way. You must think slowly and forcefully each word. Only bother with the important ones.”  
  
Hermione was glad that she could not laugh, because he sounded like he had been hypnotized.  
  
“Focus,” he intoned, sounding more himself.  
  
Hermione tried.  
  
 _No,_ she thought carefully. _Can’t sneeze – don’t need - blinking._  
  
She realized that she was embellishing her words with images of herself doing those things. She wondered if that was helpful.  
  
 _Can’t – stop – my breathing,_ she finished.  
  
Snape seemed to ponder this for a while.  
  
“Think about when the curse hit you” he finally said. “Do you remember anything about it – what it felt like, the incantation, the color?”  
  
Hermione tried to remember, but it was hard to concentrate while he was making her head buzz like that.  
  
 _Can you – stop?_  
  
He did and waited, looking away. She turned her thoughts inward and tried to remember. She remembered seeing Harry fall. Then . . . she had been surrounded by Death Eaters! Three of them. She had lost her wand.  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
He was back.  
  
 _Don’t – remember – curse. There were – Death Eaters - three. Lost my wand._  
  
“That happened moments before you were hit,” he said quickly. “You remember nothing else?”  
  
 _No. You – saw?_  
  
“Some of it,” he said, looking away and leaving her alone in her head.  
  
“I was... distracted when the curse was cast. I did not hear it. It may have been non-verbal. You must try to remember.”  
  
Snape started to get up, then paused and said awkwardly, “I will shut your eyes so you can sleep.”  
  
The last thing she saw was his hand when it hesitated in front of her face, nothing but a large pale blur. Her eyes stubbornly focused on his face beyond it, and then with the cool tingle of faint magic, he was gone. She listened for his receding footsteps, but heard only the rustle of the hanging sheets when he left.  
  
Hermione did not sleep much that night. She went over and over her memories of the battle. She remembered Professor Snape, Nagini, Harry dead, the Death Eaters closing in and her wand flying out of her hand, but nothing more. She replayed the scenes in her mind until she accidentally fell asleep. She saw Professor Snape’s face in her dreams, staring straight into her eyes and woke up wondering if he had really been there at all.


	3. The Professor

Severus woke before dawn. He went to Granger’s room immediately. Madam Pomfrey was there, talking to Dumbledore’s portrait again. The woman seemed to think she was speaking with the headmaster himself, but Severus had spent a year with the portrait and he knew better. He listened outside the makeshift room, wondering briefly why they had resorted to hanging sheets for privacy when there were so many wizards and witches around.  
  
“Good morning, dear,” said Pomfrey, leaning over her patient. “I hope you’re awake. Morning, Albus.”  
  
“Morning, Poppy. I have been observing Miss Granger for a while now,” said the portrait. “She looks remarkably well for someone who’s been cursed.”  
  
“It’s true,” said Pomfrey. “She looks better than a girl who’s been on the run for months fighting dark wizards should. Just look at the boys, they’re half-starved, pale, and weak, but not her. Do the other portraits know anything about the curse?”  
  
“I’m afraid not, Poppy.”  
  
Severus stepped into the room and observed Granger. He had not noticed it before, but she did look very well. She had a healthy color and her cheeks were almost rosy. She appeared to be sleeping pleasantly in her bed. Madam Pomfrey turned around and saw him at last.  
  
“Well, Severus?” Her voice was low.  
  
“What kind of dark magic would make her look so lovely?”  
  
“The most terrible kind,” he replied, “a curse that disguises its work while it destroys.”  
  
“Then you know it?”  
  
The woman’s eyes widened anxiously. Severus allowed her to believe it for a few moments before he admitted the truth reluctantly.  
  
“I know of many such curses, but none that look like this.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey did not reply, but fussed with Granger’s sheets a bit more before she left. She motioned for him to follow her and walked far enough away that Granger could not hear her whisper.  
  
“Severus,” she began in no-nonsense fashion. “How is she? How does she take it?”  
  
She gave him a hard look.  
  
“You are the only one who can communicate with her, and I hope you are not frightening her more.”  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow.  
  
“You may be surprised to know that Miss Granger is not frightened. She was quite calm when I spoke with her, so much so that I wonder if she understands how serious her situation is...”  
  
He paused thoughtfully.  
  
“...in fact, that may be one of the pleasanter effects of the curse.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey lost some of her composure.  
  
“You listen to me, Severus Snape, if she is sensible after all that’s happened, it’s a miracle, and one that you had better leave alone! Don’t go scaring that poor girl into insanity – I know what you are like with them!”  
  
She folded her arms and walked away. Severus paid no attention to her. Granger was not in danger of going insane – and he was qualified to make that judgment after hearing her thoughts. The night before he had expected to find the girl’s mind racing with jumbled memories from the battle, but he had only found her calm, conscious presence waiting there behind her frozen countenance.  
  
Severus pulled out the little journal he had written notes in the night before. He had not described the sensation well – it was hard to explain what it felt like to connect with a willing person’s mind. He had at times used Legilimency on students without their knowledge, picking up on their surface emotions and occasionally connected memories, but that was not the same as entering the mind of an aware and cooperating subject.  
  
He had also used Legilimency to invade minds, but it was a completely different experience to be let in. Severus was keeping notes because as far as he knew, Legilimency had never been used this way; in fact he might be the first to have tried it. Legilimency was a rarely mastered tool of war and torture, not a form of communication. Allowing a person to listen to one's thoughts required complete trust, or else ignorance of the vulnerable position it put one in. Granger might not be so agreeable if she understood what he could do to her mind.  
  
Severus walked back into the room and stood by the bed. She was propped up with pillows, just as the night before. Why had Madam Pomfrey not thought to open her eyes? Severus cleared his throat.  
  
“Miss Granger, I trust you are awake.”  
  
After a few moments he finally made himself reach out and lift her eyelids so that she stared blankly at him. It was easy to sense her mind waiting, so he looked into her vacant eyes, directed his mind across the space between their faces and felt the connection hum again.  
  
 _Hello, Professor,_ she said immediately, and if thoughts had sound it would have reverberated loudly in both of their minds.  
  
It was like a telephone, but he would have to find another way to describe it, since the comparison meant nothing to most wizards.  
  
 _I remember – more,_ she started, but did not continue.  
  
“Well,” he said impatiently. “What do you remember?”  
  
She said nothing for a moment. Then, he saw the flash of a memory; his own face, eyes wide in surprise, fading quickly to black.  
  
“Is that all?” he inquired, relieved.  
  
 _Yes._  
  
“That’s not enough,” he said. “You must remember the curse. I need to know what it felt like when you were hit.”  
  
That – she struggled, and he sensed her frustration. _That was – right before?_  
  
He hesitated.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
There was no reason to tell her yet. She would surely remember on her own. He decided to give her more time while he used the Pensieve to study his own memories.  
  
“Spend the next hour examining your memories,” he said. “You may have to relive more than the moments before you were hit. Start with the day before. Even if the memories are... painful... you must not skip even one moment.”  
  
Severus left. He knew it would be faster if he found the memories for her, but he did not want to relive the event through Granger’s eyes. He already knew what happened to her and it was enough to see it in his own mind. It was also better that she did not realize how defenseless she was when she spoke to him – it would only make his task more difficult if she tried to resist him.  
  
He suspected that she could not remember the curse because she was already blocking out so much of the battle. It would not be surprising. With nothing but her thoughts to entertain her, it would be necessary to block out the worst memories. However, if she was going to remember her last moments in the battle, she must relive the entire day, moment to moment, including the deaths of her friends and classmates.  
  
He strode toward the headmaster’s office, his office, though he never thought of it that way. He was about to enter when he ran into Harry Potter, who bolted out from behind the gargoyle. The boy’s face paled.  
  
“Professor,” he said nervously. “I was just – leaving, I mean – I left something for you. On – Dumble – er - your desk.”  
  
He shifted uncomfortably under Severus’ glare. Finally, Severus snarled at him.  
  
“Then, Potter, I suggest you move so that I can get it.”  
  
Severus was a mixture of anger and mortification in Potter’s presence and his usual biting sarcasm failed him. He cursed himself for letting so many private memories out, but he had not been able to control his thoughts when he was dying from Nagini’s bite. No doubt Weasley and half the school were whispering about his deepest secrets at that very moment.  
  
Potter scurried off and Severus entered the office. He immediately went to the desk and saw the vial that Granger had conjured to hold his memories. There was a note next to it.  
  
 _Professor,  
  
Here are the memories you gave me before the battle. I have not looked at them. There was no time._  
  
Idiot boy! Severus had come within seconds of death while making sure Potter got those memories, and the boy had apparently decided that playing the hero was more important! However, if Potter could be believed, his secrets were safe, and that was the best news Severus had gotten since waking up. He turned to the Pensieve and pulled a silvery strand of thought from his head. He watched it swirl in the basin for a moment before he leaned over it.  
  
 _He saw himself running toward the castle and heard the sounds of the battle beginning. He watched as he plunged into the battle and killed Nagini in a mad rage._  
  
It was a stupid thing to do, but it had been satisfying then, and it was even more satisfying to watch himself behead the beast again. No doubt Longbottom hated him more than ever for taking away that moment of glory, however, Severus thought it only fitting that the honor was his. For months he had carried anti-venom with him at all times, but when Nagini struck he had not been prepared for the blood loss, and of course there was Potter to think of. When he had taken that last desperate look into Lily’s eyes he had been ready to die. The darkness had closed in and the next thing he remembered was the last notes of a sad song dying in the air. It had been the phoenix that saved him before bursting into flames, and he had not seen it since.  
  
Severus returned his attention to the scene in front of him.  
  
 _Potter had just been hit by the killing curse. Severus dueled with a Death Eater, clearing a path to the Dark Lord. Severus left his memory self dueling and ran toward Voldemort to observe the moment the curse was sent. Voldemort’s wand was already raised and he saw Severus at the very moment the other Death Eater fell. His face contorted in fury but the curse was nonverbal. Severus watched it fly toward its target. Granger was to the left, with three Death Eaters running toward her. Her wand flew out of her hand as she jumped in front of Severus, blocking the curse. She was hit in the back and immediately froze. Severus was also hit by a bit of the curse that slipped around her body. He, too, was frozen. They fell to the ground facing one another, sharing an expression of shock, and the memory faded._  
  
Severus stood up and contemplated his memory. It was the last one he had before waking up in the infirmary. It appeared that he had been able to overcome the curse’s effects because he was only hit by a small part of it. Madam Pomfrey hoped that this meant Hermione would eventually get better as well, but Severus was not optimistic.  
  
The Dark Lord’s target had been Severus, a traitor who he thought he had already killed, and Severus did not know why he had not used the killing curse. Perhaps the Dark Lord had thought that being trapped in a petrified body was a fate worse than death. However, Granger was not petrified. She was breathing, her heart beat strongly and her skin was warm and glowing. She did not appear to be dead, as petrified victims did, as she had years ago when she was petrified by the basilisk. Finally, she was fully conscious, and petrified victims were not.  
  
The Dark Lord was certainly capable of advanced dark magic such as petrifaction, but it seemed that he had not intended to petrify Severus. Whatever curse he had used was probably a mixture of ancient dark magic and his own invention, created to make the victim desperate for death before it killed them. Perhaps it was the curse he had been constructing for Dumbledore. It was possible that he would have used it on Severus when he discovered his true loyalty, especially after losing the opportunity with Dumbledore.  
  
Unfortunately, there were many things the Dark Lord had not shared with anyone, and the development of that curse was one of them. There was no telling what might lie in store for Granger, but it was certain to be long, and eventually painful.  
  
Severus returned to the infirmary and forced himself to eat the soup the house elves brought. Everyone who was well enough ate in the Great Hall, but Severus would rather starve than sit through a meal with them. Even though it seemed that Potter had not told his secrets to the world after all, Severus could not endure the awkward stares, the questions, the excruciating apologies, or the repeated attempts at conversation they would make. He did not want their pity or their attention in any form. They believed he would act differently now; they called him a hero. They would be disappointed.


	4. The Hero

Hermione did as she was told and relived every memory she had starting with the day before the battle, but she learned nothing new. Her memory was still fuzzy after the moment Harry was struck down. She could only recall scattered images after Harry fell: Death Eaters closing in, her wand flying out of her hand, and Snape’s face fading away.  
  
Snape's face must have been the last thing she saw before she woke up in the infirmary. Surely Snape knew what she was missing and could enlighten her. He had not stayed long enough for her to ask, after being irritatingly vague on the matter. Hermione had a sinking feeling that despite her pleas he would continue to keep her in the dark, since he wanted her to find the memories on her own.  
  
He probably enjoyed withholding the information. He might even see it as payback for her past as an admittedly obnoxious, “insufferable know-it-all” in his classes. Hermione had not forgotten his insults, though she had pretended to with Harry and Ron in an effort to get them to keep their mouths shut. They had not needed more excuses to whinge about Snape and frankly she had preferred not talk about him at all. Up until they had discovered his role as a spy, Hermione had found it supremely disappointing to be ignored by a teacher and had taken great pleasure in pestering him with her knowledge out of spite. When his indifference had occasionally turned to vitriol, she had felt the sting of his words with fresh shock every time. Hermione was unused to criticism from adults, especially when it was doled out in a sarcastic, belittling manner.  
  
She had convinced herself that much of his over-the-top cruelty and favoritism had been a ruse, but even so, she had not been able to completely forgive him for all of his spiteful, nasty remarks over the years. Harry and Ron had only seen Snape's comments as a challenge, but poor Neville had been terrified of his Potions professor for years.  
  
Hermione had been able to bounce back quickly from the insults by reasoning away the pain; there had often been a valuable lesson in his words to her, even if it was delivered in the manner of a verbal slap to the face and accompanied by a sneer. He had been right about her obsession with memorizing textbooks, after all... if she only ever done things by the book, she might not be alive and Harry might not have defeated Voldemort.  
  
Reflecting on her younger self, Hermione freely admitted that she had been a shameless show-off at times, so impatient and confident in her knowledge that she did not give others a chance to work things out for themselves. Over the years, she had learned to accept that Snape was not impressed by her. He was perhaps the only teacher she had ever known who found her efforts lacking, which was not surprising anymore now that she knew how brilliant he had been as a student. His classes had been the most challenging, and consequently the most rewarding.  
  
Still, he was a bitter man and she did not expect sympathy from him. She was, however, determined to get some answers.  
  
Frustrated with Snape in addition to being overwhelmed by the pent up emotions that came with her memories, Hermione was in a terrible mood when Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville came to visit. She could see their familiar blurry forms approach slowly before they all greeted her again as they gathered around her bed.  
  
Ginny was the most talkative, updating Hermione on how everyone was doing, saying that nobody wanted to leave Hogwarts and face the world yet. McGonagall had assured them that Hogwarts would be a refuge as long as they needed it. Hermione was thankful that her friends would remain in the castle a while longer.  
  
The boys chimed in occasionally with half-hearted jokes whenever Ginny came particularly close to mentioning Fred and the others who had died. Hermione could tell that they were trying to be cheerful for her, but it was not working. Neville recounted the experience with Nagini, saying that he was not sure that he would have succeeded anyway if Snape had not taken the sword right out of his hand. Harry and Ron disagreed, of course, saying that Snape should have at least let him try. Hermione loved them for being loyal friends, but she had doubts about Neville wielding a sword. She knew how important it was that the snake was killed at the right time, and she would never have purposefully left the task to Neville, as much as she liked him.  
  
“Come on, Neville, you know you would have been a hero – I mean, in the Prophet and everything – if he had let you finish off the snake! And you’re not even a little mad?”  
  
Ron was incredulous.  
  
“No,” said Neville, “why would I care if I’m in the Prophet anyway? They were awful to Harry for years! Harry’s the real hero, and they didn’t even say they were sorry for printing lies about him before they sent a reporter around here for an interview!”  
  
“I think you did the right thing, Harry,” said Ginny. “They don’t deserve an interview with you.”  
  
“They don’t deserve an interview with any of us,” replied Harry. “You’re all heroes, you all fought in that battle! Especially you, Hermione.”  
  
He paused and said affectionately, “You’re also completely crazy, you know – why did you do it?”  
  
Nobody had an answer, and even if Hermione had the ability to talk she would have been speechless. She did not know what she had done and she did not know why she had done it.  
  
She would not get any more hints from their conversation, because they soon left to go to lunch. Hermione suddenly realized that she had not eaten anything since first waking up and miraculously was not even hungry. In that case, the curse must be something like being petrified. She could not remember anything at all from the last time she was petrified. It had been like going to sleep for a very long time, not at all like this. It was like being in an extremely strong, all-encompassing full-body bind. Did such a curse exist? Hermione had so many questions and no way of getting answers if Snape was not forthcoming with information.  
  
Hermione spent another long, unsuccessful period of time with her fuzzy memories of the battle. She let her thoughts wander to her parents for the first time in weeks. Their only child was probably on her deathbed and they would not remember her when she was gone. She had not been homesick since third year, but now she felt the ache rise up again for a home that was gone forever. Though she had not been close to her parents since she entered the magical world, she loved them, and before she had erased their memories they had loved her.  
  
After a while, Hermione realized that she was not as upset about her parents as she thought she should be, because she did not really believe that she was going to die. It was hard to believe she could be dying when she felt perfectly fine. Despite her mind's warnings, her optimistic heart insisted that she would be able to find her parents when she got better. There was still hope for her, and if anyone could save her from her petrified fate it was Professor Snape. He might be a sarcastic, vindictive man, but aside from Dumbledore he was probably the most intelligent and skilled wizard she had ever met.  
  
Hermione was attended yet again by Madam Pomfrey, who came in to fuss with the sheets and check Hermione for any change. She frequently remarked how well Hermione looked, and Hermione began to wish someone would hold a mirror up, since she had apparently never looked better. The last time she had seen her face it had been gaunt, bruised, and dirty, and her hair had been appallingly frazzled and partially matted into a thick braid. They would have cleaned her up after the battle, she supposed, but seeing as how she had not eaten a thing since she arrived, she could not imagine that she looked well at all.  
  
Madam Pomfrey puttered about, chatting with Dumbledore’s portrait and smoothing Hermione’s sheets mindlessly. Hermione was beginning to dislike having Dumbledore hanging over her head. It made her sad to hear his familiar voice coming from above whenever someone came into the room. She knew people took comfort in speaking with the former headmaster again, but for Hermione it seemed a hollow solace. The power and insight of the real Albus Dumbledore were not present in the portrait.  
  
“A word with you, Madam.”  
  
A dark shape had appeared in the doorway. It was a true doorway now, Hermione realized. Before, there had been only an opening in the hanging sheets. She tried to concentrate on the blurry white shapes around her, but she could not discern whether they were sheets or walls. Snape disappeared from the doorway and Madam Pomfrey followed him from the room, making Hermione nervous. More secrets most likely meant bad news.  
  
After a few minutes, Snape appeared again and strode over to the bed.  
  
“I sense you are finally beginning to understand the seriousness of your situation, Granger,” he said without preamble.  
  
Hermione did not like that he could read her emotions, but she supposed she should be grateful that she was able to communicate with anyone at all. She could not understand his tone. He had omitted the usual “miss” from her name, which he had rarely did, even when censuring her in class. At the moment she could only remember one occasion when he had, on the night they had helped Sirius escape Hogwarts.  
  
She decided he sounded carefully neutral. Suddenly, his face was in front of her again and she was forced to stare into his cold black eyes.  
  
 _I would understand it much better if anyone would tell me what’s going on!_ Hermione thought defiantly, just before he made the connection with her mind.  
  
“What was that?” he asked sharply.  
  
 _I want – to know what happened,_ Hermione thought.  
  
It was getting much easier to know which words to emphasize.  
  
“All in good time,” he said. “First, tell me what you remember.”  
  
Hermione would have sighed.  
  
 _Nothing,_ she thought. _I remember nothing._  
  
“What exactly does ‘nothing’ mean, Miss Granger? You’ve made no progress? What is the last thing you can remember? You realize I am not reading your mind.”  
  
Hermione felt an imaginary sigh again and tried to ignore the buzzing in her head. She searched for the memories that she had reviewed a hundred times already and pushed them toward him: Snape killing Nagini and running past her, Harry falling from Voldemort’s curse, then the hazy images of the three Death Eaters, her wand flying away, and Snape’s face.  
  
The memories slipped back into her mind and the space at the front of her head was empty again.  
  
“Did you do as I said and review the entire day?”  
  
 _Of course!_  
  
Did he really think she would not? Six years of classes should have taught him that she always followed directions precisely.  
  
 _I am serious,_ she thought, _I know this is serious. I can’t remember - after Harry._  
  
Hermione felt like she was speaking in a foreign language with her halting phrases. At least it gave her an excuse not to address him formally every time she spoke, a small rebellion that felt deserved in light of her frustration with him.  
  
“Are there any gaps in your memories prior to these?”  
  
 _No, definitely not,_ Hermione thought. _I remember - every moment._  
  
Snape was silent and left her to her own thoughts.  
  
“There are a few possible explanations that come to mind, Miss Granger, and I would like you to tell me which you think is more likely. The first is that you were so distraught by Potter’s apparent death that you did not actually see what was happening around you. The second is that the curse affected your mind in some way and damaged the most recent memories you had when it hit you. The third is a combination of the two. So,” he paused, “I am asking your opinion – do you think that your emotional state would have rendered you effectively blind for a few moments?”  
  
 _I – don’t know,_ thought Hermione. _I think - not._  
  
“Do you imagine that you possess more strength of mind than most people, Miss Granger?”  
  
 _No,_ she thought, _but – memories are not – only what you remember._  
  
“What do you mean by that?” he snapped.  
  
She wished he would be more patient, as it was hard to explain adequately with thoughts alone.  
  
 _Harry told me,_ she began, _a Pensieve – shows more._  
  
Hermione struggled to make him understand what she meant.  
  
 _Shows things – you didn’t see._  
  
“I am aware of the purpose of a Pensieve, Miss Granger,” Snape interrupted. “You do not understand me. Quite often, when a person is in extreme pain, be it physical or mental, their mind closes down in defense. They are not able to take in new information, and can become temporarily blind or deaf. In such cases there is literally no memory of sight or sound formed, no matter if the person’s eyes are open, as yours were when you were found. I suspect that you do not remember the moments _before_ you were hit for this reason, and it is likely that you do not remember what happened _after_ you were hit because the curse itself closed down your mind.”  
  
 _Like – being petrified?_  
  
“In simple terms, yes,” he said lazily.  
  
 _Well, if I could communicate in complicated terms I would!_ Hermione thought to herself hotly. She was annoyed that he was treating this like a lesson.  
  
“Don’t be impertinent!” he snapped again. “I caught the tone of that little tirade if not the words.”  
  
 _What if I was - just knocked out?_  
  
“You were not.”  
  
 _How do you know?_  
  
“Because I was there,” he said slowly, “and it was obvious that you were conscious moments after being hit. If you had been knocked out it would have been instantaneous.”  
  
 _Can you show me?_  
  
“Not yet,” he said, “it is not necessary –“  
  
 _PLEASE!_ she thought desperately. _If I won’t – ever remember - why not now?_  
  
She felt the buzzing stop and he studied her coldly.  
  
Suddenly, her mind was flooded with images. She saw herself dodging curses and dueling alongside her friends, and she saw Harry fall again. A Death Eater appeared in front of her and sent curses toward her. He fell moments later and she caught a glimpse of Voldemort at a distance behind him. His wand was raised, his face was full of hatred... and then her vision was blocked by her own face gasping as she was hit by the curse. They both fell to the ground, face to face, she and Snape, of course, because this was his memory. Then it faded to black, just as her own memory had.  
  
Snape stood up abruptly, giving her no chance to respond, and left without a word. As he left, another figure flew into the room.  
  
“Hermione! They’ve finally let me come visit you!”  
  
It was Luna. She leaned in very close to Hermione’s face and whispered.  
  
“I saw Professor Snape leaving. Did he come to thank you for saving his life? Everyone says he’s been acting so strangely lately and Ron says you must be crazier than a flying nargle for jumping right in front of him like that!”  
  
 _Why couldn’t you have told me so an hour ago?_ Hermione wondered weakly.  
  
She did not hear another word that Luna said that day.


	5. The Mystery

Severus fled the room immediately after showing Granger his memories, banging his elbow on the doorway as he passed Luna Lovegood. He had transfigured the sheets into walls and put a proper doorway in them earlier, wondering why Minerva had not done something about it herself. It was obvious that Granger was going to be in the infirmary for a while.  
  
Severus returned to the headmaster’s office – his office. He needed to be alone so that he could research the curse. Severus pulled out the books he had brought from his personal library and began reading, but his thoughts would not let him concentrate.  
  
Why had she done it? Gryffindors might be known for acts of heroic stupidity, but her sacrifice was baffling. He could only assume that she had been so distraught when Potter died that she did not care if she died as well. No doubt she had been in love with Potter for years... hadn’t he witnessed her numerous attempts to make the boy jealous? Her exploits with Cormac McLaggen at Slughorn’s party were a perfect example.  
  
Perhaps she had believed she was giving Severus the chance to destroy Voldemort, as it would be just like a Gryffindor to die for the greater good. Did she realize that she would have died for nothing? Potter had escaped death yet again and defeated the Dark Lord while Severus lay frozen on the ground.  
  
With great effort, Severus pushed such thoughts aside and began to read again, but it was not long before they again intruded into his consciousness.  
  
He had been harsh with her, but with reason. Her memories would bring in another point of view and greater understanding of the curse. He had not wanted to tell her, but he had not been able to refuse the plea, infused with overwhelming desperation, that she had thrown at his mind. She seemed to have some strange power over him... but he knew what it was. He owed her a life-debt.  
  
For the second time in his life he was going to work tirelessly to save another golden Gryffindor from the aftermath of foolish bravery, and he could not even hate her for it. She could have no selfish motive for her sacrifice. He could find no fault with her except for an infatuation with Potter, and he had long forgiven another young woman for the same mistake. His temper flared. Potter really was just like his father. Severus pitied Miss Granger. She had thrown away her life for a worthless, arrogant . . .  
  
Severus slammed the book shut and began pacing in front of the desk. He would not go _there._  
  
He could not help it, though; he began comparing her to Lily. Of course, Lily was infinitely superior to Hermione Granger. She had never been a know-it-all and for at least a few years she had hated James Potter almost as much as Severus did. However, when Potter wanted something, he always got it, and he had eventually won Lily over.  
  
Severus knew that he shared some of the blame for Lily’s mistake. He no longer pretended that she could have been with a Death Eater, but he resented the fact that everyone else in the world believed Potter was a saint and that Lily had been destined for him. The _golden couple_ was what they had been called and Lily had been swept away in Potter’s popularity. She could not have been as happy as she had pretended, giving up all her previous ambitions to become a wife and mother so quickly. Severus would never consider it a possibility.  
  
Severus realized he had just broken the quill he held in his hands in half.  
  
His newfound pity for Granger did not extend to her mind. He had played the devil’s advocate earlier when he asked her whether she thought she had more strength of mind than most people. She certainly did. He was no longer convinced that it was the curse that kept her so composed. He had witnessed enough brief moments of emotion to know that it was there, normally restrained and controlled. He should not be surprised, for Granger had always been impeccably organized and practical. She was a meticulous overachiever who seemed often incapable of thinking for herself. Lily had been brilliant and creative . . . she had loved it when he invented spells for her.  
  
Severus closed his eyes and fought the memories back. He must stop thinking about her; it always put him in the worst mood and he had work to do. He massaged his temples and cleared his mind before sitting down at the desk once more. He managed to read almost ten pages before he was distracted again.  
  
It was amazing that he was able to communicate with Granger so well. Being incapacitated would help focus her mind, but it was still incredible that he was able to understand her so easily. Her thoughts were a combination of words, images, emotions, and imagined gestures. He had sensed her desire to sigh twice in frustration. The nuances of this sort of thought-speech were intriguing and completely new to him.  
  
As much as he wanted to avoid Granger after today, he also wanted to learn more about the way they were communicating. Granger was far less irritating when she was not speaking aloud. Her thoughts were beautifully crafted, expressive phrases – much preferable to hearing the knee-jerk recitation of a textbook.  
  
Severus returned to his book again with determination. He was certain that the curse was some kind of modified petrification, and he started by researching what forms already existed before he tried to figure out what Voldemort had done. He could do nothing but study, wait for Granger to exhibit more effects of the curse, and hope he could act fast enough to save her. He was also aware that he may be affected by the curse to a lesser degree, since he had been hit by a small fraction of it, which might give him insight on the symptoms should any more affect him.  
  
By the time Severus extinguished the lights and went to bed, he had been through three books with little success. It seemed that his knowledge on the subject of petrification-based curses was not as lacking as he had assumed. There were only two forms of dark curses related to petrification that were discussed at any length. The first was known as ‘drowning from the inside’ – the victim was petrified, then their insides slowly turned to water until finally it spewed from their mouth like a fountain, making the poor witch or wizard a permanent monument as a warning to others. The second was a type of full-body bind that could only be lifted by the wand that cast it. The victim was fully conscious and could move their eyes. It was upon reading the last point that Severus had a terrible thought. What if Voldemort’s wand, the Elder Wand, was the only one that could lift the curse? Potter had destroyed it.  
  
Severus only knew of the wand's fate because Minerva had filled him in on the events of the battle he had missed after being hit by the curse. Potter was avoiding Severus like the plague, though the boy seemed to have lost much of the defiance that typically shone out from his emerald green eyes in Severus' presence.  
  
Severus estimated that he had been conscious in the infirmary for at least an hour before he was able to move. He had been in a dream state, unable to open his eyes, wondering what had happened to him. Then it had all come rushing back and Granger’s face had haunted him.  
  
With a surge of energy, he had opened his eyes and squinted at the ceiling. Sitting up, he examined himself for injuries. When it appeared that he was completely unharmed, he had gone in search of someone who could explain what happened to him. He had not even known what day it was.  
  
Passing the windows, he could see that it was dusk. He had wandered through the infirmary, noting who was still alive. Horace had looked like he might not make it and Arthur Weasley took labored breaths in a nearby bed. It could not be long after the battle, Severus had surmised.  
  
Ducking into another sectioned room, he had found Potter sleeping soundly, with Ron Weasley in a bed next to him. So, the boy-who-lived still lived. Was the Dark Lord gone for good? He wondered and worried as he walked up to the bed and stared at Potter. Lifting his sleeve and peering at his forearm, he saw that the Dark Mark had faded, leaving a scar in its place. Potter stirred and rolled over. Severus backed away from the bed and left the room quietly.  
  
“Severus Snape!”  
  
McGonagall had flown toward him, followed by Madam Pomfrey.  
  
“What in heaven’s name – how is it possible? Poppy?”  
  
“You saw as well as I did, Minerva, he looked like he was a breath away from death! I don’t understand it!”  
  
The two women stood speechless in front of him, looking like they thought he might be a ghost. Then, Madam Pomfrey had stepped forward and taken his arm.  
  
“You must come back to your bed,” she said shakily.  
  
“Madam, I will do no such thing. I feel perfectly well and I assure you I have no injuries to speak of.”  
  
“Severus, I must insist!” Madam Pomfrey patted his arm, and he snatched it away from her in annoyance.  
  
“No, _I_ must insist. I will go back to my bed if Professor McGonagall will accompany me and explain exactly what has happened while I was unconscious.”  
  
“Of course, Severus,” Minerva had said, looking frightfully pale. “I’ll come now.”  
  
They left, and once Severus was sitting on edge of his bed, McGonagall had conjured up a chair for herself. She was still staring at him in shock and fear. She cleared her throat.  
  
“Where would you like me to start?”  
  
“How about the moment after Miss Granger was killed.”  
  
Severus watched her reaction.  
  
“She’s not dead, Severus,” she had said in a hushed tone. “She’s – well, we don’t understand it. She seems to be petrified, in a way. We were hoping that you might be able to- ”  
  
“Yes,” he said impatiently, “I’ll see her right away, but first... tell me what happened to Voldemort.”  
  
“He’s gone. Potter used the Killing Curse in the end.”  
  
“Potter? As I recall, Potter was dead.”  
  
Severus had waited for her explanation while calming his mind. There would be no celebrating until it was confirmed that Potter had done it properly and his dark master was truly vanquished.  
  
“He’s not dead!” she exclaimed. “We don’t really understand why. Potter said something about Horcruxes and his mother and the Elder Wand. I don’t think he understands himself – he certainly did not expect to be alive.”  
  
“He was able to duel the Dark Lord and win?”  
  
Severus wanted details. Only then could he be sure of the relief that rose up in his chest.  
  
“It’s strange, how it happened,” she said slowly. “After Voldemort cursed you and Miss Granger, he. . . faltered. Almost as if the curse drained his power. It was just for a moment, but that was enough for Harry to disarm him. He caught the wand and sent the Killing Curse with it. At the same time, I and at least three others did the same... and that was the end. After that, it was not hard to round up those Death Eaters that were left. They didn’t put up much of a fight once he was gone. The Elder Wand, if that is what it truly was, has been destroyed.”  
  
Severus studied the floor thoughtfully. McGonagall continued.  
  
“After that, we started tending the wounded. We found you and Miss Granger frozen. We assume you were hit by a bit of the curse she was unable to block. You’ve been unconscious for a day now. Nobody outside the castle knows that you’re still alive. We’ve managed to keep the press out, and we hid you from the Ministry when they came to inspect the grounds but it won’t be long before they find out. You have a lot of explaining to do.”  
  
McGonagall’s expression had suggested that she wanted to hear that explanation as well.  
  
“Dumbledore’s portrait has already spoken to me on your behalf.”  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
“And Miss Granger?”  
  
She sighed.  
  
“Miss Granger has not revived. It’s incredible that you were the one to wake up first.”  
  
She studied him.  
  
“You appeared to be dead, except for the fact that you were breathing. She, however, looks like she’s only asleep. They can’t find a thing wrong with her.”  
  
A long silence followed in which Severus contemplated everything she had said. Finally, she spoke again.  
  
“Severus, I’m sorry for the trouble we gave you- ”  
  
“Yes, thank you,” he interrupted. “Where is Miss Granger?”  
  
Minerva had pursed her lips, perhaps to hold back more apologies, then nodded slightly and stood up.  
  
“Come with me.”  
  
She had directed him to Granger’s room and then gone in search of Madam Pomfrey. It was then that he had noticed Potter hanging around, and caught sight of Weasley at the bedside. Hadn’t they just been sleeping?  
  
He had focused on Granger, searching for a conscious mind and was met with exuberant emotion. He noted the arrival of McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and of all people, Molly Weasley, before he made his surprising announcement.  
  
Now he found himself reading well into the night, determined to do his best to save the foolish Gryffindor, friend of Potter, insufferable-know-it-all, who had saved his miserable life.


	6. The Visitors

It took Hermione much longer to wake up when she could not open her eyes. The line between dreams and thoughts was a blurry one. Every morning she woke herself by straining to hear the faint sounds through the walls around her. She was sure they were walls now, because she could no longer hear the Healers talking in hushed tones or the murmuring of other patients and visitors.  
  
This morning, Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore’s portrait exchanged their greetings as usual and then Luna and Neville came to visit her. There was no more talk of Professor Snape, but he was all Hermione could think about. While Luna entertained Neville and Hermione with her latest theories, Hermione replayed what she had seen in Snape’s memory again and again in her mind. She was desperate to retrieve her own memories and to understand what had happened. Hermione was just as curious as her friends were about her heroic act.  
  
Hermione's thoughts turned back to Snape. It was not until Dumbledore’s death that she had been able to believe the worst of her sharp-tongued Potions professor. Something she saw once or twice in his eyes had continued to make her wonder if there were yet more layers of deception to his role than anyone could know. A sliver of doubt had lingered in Hermione’s mind, but she had not dared to let the hope that Snape might still be on their side grow into anything like a coherent thought or theory. At most, she had attributed the startling emotion she had seen in his normally guarded face as proof that he was not completely lost to evil.  
  
For some time, it had been her faith in Dumbledore's judgement that made her wonder, not anything in Snape’s character. Then, on the very day of Dumbledore's death, she had seen something in Snape's heavy, almost sorrowful demeanor and in his eyes when he had told her to stay with Flitwick while he went to help... it had been the look of someone weak and wounded, in great pain. It had been just a moment, but it had been enough to make tears and worry well up within her, and had renewed her trust in him just moments before he went to carry out Dumbledore's plan for his own demise.  
  
Hermione’s thoughts turned to every memory she had of the professor and she analyzed every action, every word, and every sneer she could remember. She still felt sorry for setting his robes on fire first year, when he was protecting Harry all along, and for the night in the Shrieking Shack although she could find no excuse for his unreasonable behavior then. She had often wondered that he had lost his composure so completely that night. He had to be the most cunning and careful of spies to survive double crossing Voldemort, and he was certainly intelligent. How could his hatred of Sirius have affected him to the point of insanity?  
  
Harry being there had not helped things, of course, but to be ready to send an innocent man to the Dementors while setting a murderous servant of the rising Dark Lord free, all over an old school rivalry, was ludicrous. Only, Hermione supposed that Snape had not known that Wormtail was there because he would not give them a chance to explain.  
  
In any case, Hermione would not have jumped in front of Snape without a good reason. There was something else Snape was not telling her. From what she could remember, she had not been particularly concerned about him during the battle. If anyone was prepared to face Death Eaters and Voldemort, it was Snape. It seemed that she had seen Harry fall, believed that Snape was the only one who could face Voldemort, and sacrificed herself to give him that chance.  
  
Hermione could not help being impressed with her own courage, but when she remembered the Death Eaters closing in on her it made sense. She would not have had a chance against them, and she could remember losing her wand. She certainly would have died anyway if she had not jumped in front of Snape. She was not quite as noble as everyone thought, but she was practical.  
  
If Snape was hiding something else about the battle, she might never learn it. He had years of experience using Occlumency and he would be able to keep anything he wanted hidden even while showing her his memories. She was unable to tell from her own disjointed memories just how much time had elapsed between each fuzzy image. The longer she reviewed them, the more certain she became that there was more to the event than Snape had shown her.  
  
Luna and Neville were arguing about something, which was unusual. Luna’s voice was as light as ever, but Neville sounded annoyed.  
  
“Look, let’s just get some breakfast. I’m starving,” he said.  
  
“All right, Neville,” said Luna, “but you mustn’t be angry, you’ll upset Hermione. Goodbye, Hermione!”  
  
“'Bye, Hermione,” said Neville, sounding tired. They left.  
  
It was not long before Hermione had another visitor. Ron was back, this time with just Ginny. They both seemed upset and did not speak much, though from what they did say Hermione gathered that they were hiding from the rest of their family. Hermione was very sorry for her friends. She wanted to weep with them and hug them and let out some of her sorrow. It was exceptionally painful to have them sitting there, reminding her of Fred and all the others. She was ashamed of how little she thought of them, but with no outlet for her emotions it was easier to forget.  
  
Suddenly, Ginny stood up, folded her arms, and sighed.  
  
“I’ll go find Mum,” she said, sounding much more tired than Neville had.  
  
Ron stayed in his seat, resting his chin on his fists. When Ginny left he sighed loudly and rubbed his hands over his face. Hermione noticed movement in the doorway behind him.  
  
“Oh!”  
  
Ron’s head shot up and he looked to the door. The voice sounded familiar.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ron! I was just coming to visit Hermione. I heard about what happened.”  
  
It was Padma Patil. She came into the room, but hung back from the bed.  
  
“They say she can hear us?”  
  
“Yeah,” said Ron solemnly.  
  
“Hi, Hermione,” called Padma softly. “Parvati says ‘hi’ as well. She’s still recovering. Well, she’s already recovered but they’re making her stay in bed. She hates it, but I told her she’s lucky that she can get up at all. I mean . . . I’m sorry,” Padma sounded embarrassed, “I shouldn’t have said that.”  
  
There was a long pause.  
  
“Hermione’s going to be okay,” said Ron. “I know it.”  
  
He touched Hermione's hand lightly.  
  
“She’ll probably figure it out before Snape does. Wish I could see the look on his face when you tell him, Hermione.”  
  
Padma finally grew brave enough to draw near the bed.  
  
“I hope you do, Hermione, it would be great. I mean . . . it will be great no matter who figures it out, of course.”  
  
She laughed nervously. “But it would be great to get back at Snape, you know... because of how he always said you were a know-it-all.”  
  
Hermione found herself becoming annoyed with Padma. Just when she and Ron were alone again, Padma had to come barging in to gape at her. Ron had been so sweet that day before Snape had interrupted him. They had never spoken openly about what they wanted out of their relationship if they survived the war, and she needed to hear him talk, even if she could not yet answer. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry, and that he could not wait for her to be well so they could make a go of it at last. Ron would not say anything of the sort with Harry in the room, let alone Padma Patil! Hermione would prefer watching Ron sit in silence than listening to her inane comments.  
  
“Where’s Harry?” Padma asked.  
  
“Meeting with the Minister,” said Ron. “They want him to do an interview, but he’s refused to go through the Prophet.”  
  
“Why?” Padma’s eyes widened.  
  
“Well, they don’t deserve it, do they?” said Ron loudly.  
  
“I don’t know.” she said, “Shouldn’t people know what happened? If he doesn’t tell them, the Prophet will get it from someone else and it will only be worse.”  
  
Ron grunted.  
  
“I suppose he’ll negotiate something in the end.”  
  
“I would do an interview,” she said, “except that I don’t really have anything to say. I was trapped in a classroom for most of it.”  
  
Ron only grunted again.  
  
“Ron? Oh, hello, Padma.”  
  
Another voice called from the door. It was Ginny again.  
  
“Mum and Dad want us to come to lunch.”  
  
Ron squeezed Hermione’s hand and started to go.  
  
“See you later, Hermione,” he said.  
  
“It was good to see you, Hermione,” said Padma. “I’m sure you’ll be better soon, you look so well today.”  
  
Padma hurried out after Ron and Ginny.  
  
Hermione watched them go resentfully. If only she could get up and run after them. She knew they were grieving, but at least they could move. Hermione did not notice the next visitor until he was halfway to the bedside. It was Harry. He sat down and covered his face with his hands much as Ron had earlier. Finally he looked up at her and let his hands fall to his lap.  
  
“Hermione, I really wish you could tell me what to do. I know I usually didn’t listen to your advice, but there were a lot of times that I should have.”  
  
 _Thank you, Harry,_ thought Hermione, wishing she could hug him.  
  
“I just don’t know what to say to Ginny,” said Harry. “At least Ron and I understand one another. He doesn’t want to talk now. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about her... her pain. She ignores everyone, but now she’s mad because she thinks I’ve been avoiding her.”  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
“I know what it’s like to lose family,” he said. “She’s not the only one who’s lost someone! Lupin and Tonks were like family to me, and so was Fred. I try to talk to her, but we end up arguing. I try to touch her, and she pulls away. Then she tells me I’m avoiding her!”  
  
 _She's angry, and she feels guilty,_ thought Hermione. _She can’t have a happy relationship with you when her brother is dead. She can’t be glad you’re alive without remembering that Fred is not._  
  
“Well, I _am_ avoiding her now,” said Harry. “I can’t stand to be around the family when they’re all together. He was my best friend’s brother – he was my friend too! Mr. and Mrs. Weasley look terrible.”  
  
Harry stood up and paced quickly.  
  
“Then there’s everyone acting like idiots around me,” he said. “They all want to know how I survived the Killing Curse again. They’ll walk right up and start talking about how amazing it is that I survived with Ron and Ginny standing right there wishing their brother was still alive.  
  
“I told everyone that it must have been the Elder Wand, that it was the ‘power the Dark Lord knows not’. I was its master and it wouldn’t kill me. Hermione, when the curse hit me I – well, I think I was sort of dead. I saw Dumbledore! I talked to him. He told me . . . well, it turns out I was a Horcrux.”  
  
Harry shuddered.  
  
“That’s what Snape was supposed to tell me! It must’ve been what those memories were about. It was Dumbledore who told me I wasn’t actually dead yet, though I should have been. He had been counting on my sacrificing myself, and said it was the only way to get rid of the part of Voldemort’s soul that was in me – in my scar. He accidentally made me a Horcrux when he tried to kill me the first time, Hermione.”  
  
Harry shuddered again.  
  
“Then he said the reason I was alive was that Voldemort took my blood, and my mother’s protection with it, and it ‘tethered me to life’ somehow. That it doubled the bond between us. He didn’t seem to think my being the true master of the Elder Wand had much to do with it, but that’s the story I’m telling. Hermione, I already have reporters storming Hogwarts to talk to me, and I don’t want anyone to find out that I was Voldemort’s Horcrux. It was bad enough when the whole school thought I was the heir of Slytherin.”  
  
Harry was silent for a while.  
  
“We talked a lot. Dumbledore told me that he had wanted the Hallows when he was younger. He told me that he and Snape planned his death, and that Snape was supposed to have gotten the Elder Wand. He knew that Snape was still alive. I wonder if he saw Dumbledore too. Dumbledore – didn’t seem very sorry about Snape almost dying. He just said it didn’t work out like he intended.”  
  
Hermione hoped Harry would continue, but he was silent for a long moment.  
  
“Dumbledore told me I was the better man. He cried. He told me about Adriana and Grindelwald and why he would never be the Minister of Magic because he was afraid of the power.”  
  
Hermione felt the silence weigh on her ears as she waited for Harry to continue.  
  
“Well, after a long time he told me I had better go back and see what I could do about Voldemort. Then I woke up on the ground and I saw Snape going for Voldemort. I saw him hit you both with the curse and I jumped up and disarmed him. The Elder Wand was already mine, and I killed him with it. Although, I’m not sure that it was my curse that did it. You know I’d never used it before. It was green, and it felt powerful, but McGonagall and some others hit him at the same time.”  
  
Harry came to stand next to Hermione.  
  
“Hermione, you’re the only person I’ve told the whole truth. Not even Ron knows I saw – or dreamed – Dumbledore. Everybody’s got enough to deal with right now. I think it’s enough for them to know that Voldemort’s gone without knowing exactly how it happened. I just needed to tell someone. I need someone else to know the truth. That’s the true story, whatever you might have heard from everyone else.”  
  
Harry paused again, but before he could speak again an irritated voice came from the doorway.  
  
“You will do nothing of the sort! Miss Granger is to remain at Hogwarts while I attend her. Madam Pomfrey can assist me. Don’t worry - you need not spare any Healers for her!”  
  
Snape swooped into the room on the heels of a Healer with a clipboard.  
  
“I am only following orders, Professor Snape,” said the Healer stiffly. “Any patients requiring long-term treatment are to be moved to St. Mungo’s within the next two days. While your expertise is appreciated and perhaps needed, it would be better if she were under constant surveillance, which you cannot provide even with Madam Pomfrey’s assistance.”  
  
“You will have little say in the matter,” retorted Snape. “Miss Granger’s only known guardians cannot be found and she is now a ward of Hogwarts. She will stay.”  
  
“You do not have the authority to make that decision!” exclaimed the Healer. “Most of the world still thinks you’re dead! You’re a known Death Eater! If she’s a ward of Hogwarts, then the Headmistress will decide where she goes.”  
  
Though Hermione’s vision was blurry, she could imagine the expression on Snape’s face and gave the Healer credit for sheer backbone.  
  
“She stays,” said Snape, after a deadly pause. “The Headmistress will agree with me.”  
  
“Yes, she will,” rang McGonagall’s crisp voice before the Healer could reply.  
  
“I’m sorry for the confusion,” she said, stepping into the room. “I should have made it clear that Miss Granger will not be moved to St. Mungo’s. I have every confidence in Severus’ abilities. I could not put her life in more capable hands. Your own colleagues have told me they can do nothing for her.”  
  
The Healer ran his hand through his hair and sighed.  
  
“Very well, though it’s still my opinion that she can only receive the attention she needs at St. Mungo’s.”  
  
“She will not be neglected,” said McGonagall. “You may send a Healer to check on her as often as once a week. In fact, I may insist upon it.”  
  
The Healer only nodded curtly and made his exit. Beside Hermione, Harry cleared his throat.  
  
“Professor McGonagall?” asked Harry, waiting for her attention. “Since Hermione is of age, shouldn’t she get to decide where she stays? I mean - maybe someone should ask her.”  
  
Snape’s dark figure seemed to loom larger in the background.  
  
“Potter! Inflated though your estimation of Miss Granger’s intellect may be, she is certainly intelligent enough to know that St. Mungo’s offers her no hope for recovery!”  
  
Hermione could sense Harry tense up. _Oh, Harry,_ she thought, _please don’t do this!_  
  
“So she’s supposed to believe that you know more than all the Healers at St. Mungo’s?”  
  
Snape was certainly sneering now. Hermione could hear it in his voice.  
  
“I know more about the Dark Arts than even you could imagine, Potter,” he said. “I spent _years_ watching the Dark Lord devise curses for his enemies.”  
  
Snape was standing over them now.  
  
“So, yes,” he said. “I know more than all the Healers at St. Mungo’s in this particular instance. However, Miss Granger will not have 'all the Healers at St. Mungo’s' on her case. She will be lucky if she gets one or two.”  
  
“Why can’t you treat her there?”  
  
“Harry,” McGonagall intoned in warning. “You will stop interrogating Professor Snape at once! I am the one who made the decision. The Healers at St. Mungo’s believe there is no hope of recovery and they want to treat Hermione with spells that may interfere with the effects of the curse. Professor Snape and I believe that by watching her for any further effects we may find a cure. If she remains here she will be watched more carefully than anyone at a busy hospital could manage.”  
  
Hermione knew that Harry was only being difficult because he still did not like Snape. Hermione certainly wanted to stay at Hogwarts, and she would have thought Harry would prefer her to stay as well. If she was going to be stuck lying in a bed, she would much rather be in the familiar castle than at sterile, lonely St. Mungo’s.  
  
“I just think that before you decide what you’re going to do with Hermione you should ask her first,” Harry said stubbornly.  
  
Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged away, saying a quiet, “'Bye, Hermione.”  
  
Snape and McGonagall were still standing in the room. McGonagall walked over to Hermione and patted her arm. Hermione was vaguely irritated that everyone kept doing that. McGonagall went without a word, leaving Snape standing at the foot of the bed.  
  
He looked up and said suddenly, “Do you wish to go to St. Mungo’s?”  
  
 _No!_  
  
Hermione felt a wave of relief flood her mind as he nodded and came to sit beside her.  
  
“Miss Granger,” he began, “I do not know if I can help you. If I cannot, you may remain as you are forever . . . or face death. I cannot promise you your life back, only the smallest hope of it. Do you understand?”  
  
 _Yes,_ Hermione thought faintly.


	7. The Unknown

Severus slammed his book shut and hurriedly scratched a few lines on the parchment in front of him. He turned back to the book, only to realize that he had shut it in haste and lost his page. He flicked his wand at it and it fell open again. He scanned it, quickly finding his place.  
  
 _Soul Starvation. Non-verbal._  
  
It had been a week since the Healers left, taking the patients left in the infirmary with them. Granger had been moved to a bed under a window at the far end of the infirmary. She continued the same as ever, and Severus continued to search for answers. He may have just found one. He began reading where he had left off.  
  
 _The Soul Starvation Curse relied on a modified method of petrification to trap the soul in the body. Since the victims appeared to be dead, not petrified, they were often buried or burned alive by their own families. When buried, being perfectly conscious with no physical or mental stimuli, the victim’s mind would slowly give in to insanity. The soul would become weaker and weaker until it finally faded from the body. It is unknown how long a strong mind could last, but even weaker minds could continue for years in such a state. The Soul Starvation Curse was used on traitors in war, most notably by Richard the Relentless near the end of his reign._  
  
Severus slammed the book shut again. The frail pages crinkled slightly as the loose binding shifted.  
  
It fit too well. It was ancient dark magic, a war curse meant for traitors. The Dark Lord would have known it and would have thought it a fitting end for a double agent. The question was how did he change it? He liked to add his own touch to a curse. He would often tailor a curse for its victim. What would he have done to Severus?  
  
Severus stared at the parchment on his desk and rolled his quill between his fingers. He was beginning to doubt his previous theories. Since being hit with the curse two weeks ago, Granger had shown no sign of change, good or bad. The Soul Starvation Curse seemed to be the most likely explanation. However, Granger did not look dead. She looked very much alive and well. She reported that she felt well, having no pain or numbness in any part of her body. She ate and drank nothing, and her body wanted nothing to sustain it.  
  
Voldemort was not patient or subtle. It was not like him to create a curse with undetectable effects. He would have wanted to see his victim suffer. Severus could not imagine how the Dark Lord would have altered the curse to produce Granger’s state, nor could he imagine what might lie in store for the girl. Dark curses generally did not take so long to work their evil in a person’s body – unless they were created to respond to a trigger.  
  
A trigger was often a place – for example, a person cursed against entering a house would harbor the curse without any ill effect until they stepped foot inside the door. Trigger curses could lay dormant indefinitely. At one time they were used as punishment for crimes, but they were complicated, unstable spells even when cast by a skilled wizard. When cast by a lesser wizard they were often completely ineffective, or spontaneously set themselves off.  
  
It was a guess, but it was all Severus had. It was unlikely that the Dark Lord would attempt such a delicate curse in the midst of a battle, but perhaps it was a chance he had been willing to take for revenge.  
  
There were still too many unknowns. Why didn’t Granger appear to be dead? What triggers would Voldemort have used for Severus? What kind of curse would be unleashed when the trigger was found? Did Voldemort cast the curse successfully?  
  
Severus found himself remembering Granger’s faint reply the night he had told her that he did not know if he could help her. It had been hardly more than a whisper in his mind, a soft acknowledgement of her hopeless situation. He was not sorry for telling her the truth, but since then he had often wished the truth was different.  
  
Realizing how late it was, Severus prepared for bed. He lay down heavily at last, feeling more tired than seemed appropriate, and immediately fell asleep.  
  
The next morning, Severus woke with the sensation of emerging from a very good dream. It was not a common feeling for him, but the haze of sleep left him quickly and took every memory of his dreams with it. His only truly good dreams were always of Lily, and he was sorry he could not remember it. It had been a long time since he had one.  
  
Frowning, Severus stood up. This was no time to wallow in the past. He should check on Granger early this morning, before the Healer arrived from St. Mungo’s. Severus wanted to be there to meet him as usual.  
  
Severus ate breakfast in his rooms and hurried to the infirmary. Granger’s bed was still walled in. She had wished to keep them for privacy, despite the fact that there was no longer anyone else in the infirmary with her. Many students and their families had left Hogwarts by now, though the entire Weasley clan was still living in the Gryffindor tower, along with Potter and a few others. Severus thought it was far too generous of Minerva to allow anyone to stay this long, but she was determined to house the survivors of the battle as long as they wished to stay. Repairs to the castle were underway, and at least the inhabitants were making themselves useful by helping in that way.  
  
He strode into Granger’s room purposefully, but his grand entrance went unnoticed because the Healer had not yet arrived. Severus checked the time. The Healer was late.  
  
Severus found himself staring at Granger as she slept. Well, her eyes were still closed, at least. If she was awake, she might have heard him enter since he had taken no pains to be quiet. Her sense of hearing had become quite acute.  
  
Granger’s face was so serene in the morning light that it was hard to believe she was the obnoxious hand-waver he remembered from classes. The light from the window was bright despite being filtered through enchanted stained glass, and it gave her face a rosy glow.  
  
Suddenly, Severus realized that it was the same window under which he had woken up not so long ago. It featured a large red rose with a leafy green stem and long, sharp thorns jutting out at angles. He wondered if it had managed to bring a bit of color into his own complexion when he had been the one lying beneath it.  
  
Severus went to stand next to her, carefully positioning himself so that he was not blocking the warm light from her face. He tried to remember what her face had looked like when it was animated. She looked much older when she was not wearing school robes and flouncing around the castle with Potter – but then, she had not been in the castle for over a year, and her time away had been anything but relaxing. She would have matured greatly trying to keep Potter and Weasley alive while on the run from the Dark Lord.  
  
He let his gaze roam over her still features: a slightly heavy, gently arched brow, and thick, rather straight lashes resting on cheeks that were covered in light freckles. Her nose and mouth were delicately shaped, average and unassuming. Her eyes were surely the focal point of her face, when they were open. Without the pretentious eagerness he recalled overriding her features, she appeared composed, mature, and almost elegant.  
  
Severus mentally shook himself. What was the matter with him? He moved closer to the bed, allowing his shadow to fall over Granger’s body. He reached down and opened her eyes gently. He did not take time to dwell on the fact that the gesture was now familiar to him, but looked into her blank eyes and with very little effort found her waiting behind them.  
  
“Miss Granger.”  
  
 _Good morning,_ she said, as was her habit. Today, however, it was faint and weak. Her normally bright, clear thoughts had diminished to a wavering echo. It was certainly not a good sign.  
  
“Did I wake you?” he inquired, and realized that his voice was unusually gentle. He cleared his throat.  
  
“I will give you a moment to gather your thoughts.”  
  
 _No,_ she said. _I’ve been awake. I heard you – come in._  
  
If he had not become used to hearing her thoughts, he might not have heard them at all. There was no force behind them.  
  
“Miss Granger, have you been getting adequate sleep?”  
  
 _Yes,_ she answered at once. _No – I don’t know. I hardly know if I’ve slept for hours or minutes sometimes. But – I believe I sleep enough._  
  
“It seems that you are weak this morning.”  
  
 _Do I even need to sleep?_ she mused, her thoughts becoming clearer.  
  
 _I don’t need to eat, or –_ she paused and he picked up a hint of embarrassment in her thoughts – _or anything else, but I guess I do need to give my mind a rest. It’s the only part of me that – functions – at the moment._  
  
Her thoughts had reached their normal pitch and he could feel the warm energy of her mind rushing toward him again.  
  
“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “but you do not need as much rest for your mind when you are not able to expend energy with your body. It is likely that you have been sleeping much more than is necessary. Without enough stimulation –”  
  
Severus broke off abruptly. He had been thinking aloud, and the realization of what he was about to say stopped him. Without stimulation of the mind the soul tied to it would fade – first into insanity, then to death – soul starvation.  
  
Whether or not it was the curse used, the effects would be the same if Granger remained in this state. She was in no immediate danger of death, and while she could still communicate with Severus she would not go insane, but the faintness of her voice only a few minutes before had scared him.  
  
“Miss Granger, I believe you may be damaging your mind by sleeping too much.”  
  
 _What? I haven’t – I mean, how could it hurt me?_  
  
She was panicked, and her distress began to make him uncomfortable.  
  
“You appear to be unharmed as of yet,” he said quickly, though it might have been a lie. “However, I believe you should try to stay awake as long as possible. Sleep only at night and even then less than you did normally.”  
  
That would do for now, but he would have to monitor her closely, at all intervals of the day, to be sure she was not fading.  
  
 _I can’t – I mean –_  
  
Severus emerged from own his thoughts to give attention to hers.  
  
 _It’s hard to stay awake when there’s nobody here,_ she said. _Before I know it, I fall asleep. I don’t try to do it._  
  
“You must try harder, Miss Granger! Your life depends on it.”  
  
 _Why – what is going on? I don’t understand –_  
  
Severus was sure that if Granger had been able to, she would be crying. That knowledge might have been what put the uncharacteristic softness back into his voice when he answered.  
  
“Your mind appears to be weakened from inactivity,” he said hesitantly, because he was not sure how much he should tell her. “It needs to be active for at least as many hours as it would normally. The mind, the body, and the soul are connected in ways that we do not fully understand.”  
  
 _So... you think the curse will kill me while I sleep? Or, it makes you want to sleep so much that you never wake up? Please, can't you explain?_  
  
Severus wondered if obsessing over the curse would help keep her mind active or only speed her more quickly to insanity. In any case, it was hard to resist the overwhelmingly emotional plea that hit him. He could not continue to speak with her while she was in such a state.  
  
“There is a known curse which traps the mind and soul in the body until they fade away completely. It does not appear to be the curse that the Dark Lord used... however, it is similar.”  
  
She was silent for a moment and retreated back into her mind. He waited as unobtrusively as possible until she spoke.  
  
 _I will try._  
  
Severus looked away from her. Fear and sorrow infused her every thought and he wished that he had not spoken aloud earlier.  
  
“Miss Granger, you may be assured that the danger is not great at the moment,” Severus said firmly. “You have several advantages over the situation, one of which is the ability to speak with me. Also, you do in fact possess a greater strength of mind than most people – the ease with which we communicate is proof. I am confident that if you stay awake for longer periods of time, your mind will not be harmed.”  
  
Severus stood as he spoke and stared at the silent girl on the bed. He realized that he had occluded his mind from her without thinking, and when he let the walls down again he could still sense the faintest echoes of her emotion.  
  
He left her, feeling that he had told her too much, but it had to be done. She could not continue sleeping away the days and allow her mind to become weak. Severus suddenly remembered what she had told him; “It’s hard to stay awake when nobody’s here.” Why wasn’t anybody there? Her little Gryffindor friends had been constantly underfoot the first week, and he had assumed that they still visited her. Now, he realized that he had not seen anyone going in or out of the room recently.  
  
Severus nearly ran into the St. Mungo’s Healer as he left the infirmary. He did not even bother to intimidate the man today. He needed to find the Headmistress. Fortunately, he did not need to go very far in search of McGonagall. She was standing in the corridor with Potter, Weasley, and one of the Patil girls. They saw him coming and ended their conversation.  
  
“Headmistress,” he called, advancing, “a word with you. Potter, Weasley, stay!”  
  
The boys stopped in their tracks a few feet away.  
  
“What is it, Severus?”  
  
McGonagall was startled.  
  
“Have you discovered something about Miss Granger?”  
  
Severus glared at Potter as he answered.  
  
“I have,” he said. “I just spoke with her, and discovered something very interesting indeed.”  
  
Severus bored holes into Potter’s head, because the boy was not looking at him.  
  
“It seems her – friends – no longer see the need to visit her.”  
  
“Wha – of course we visit her, Professor! I don’t know what he’s talking about!”  
  
Potter was addressing the Headmistress. She frowned and glanced at Severus in concern.  
  
“Don’t lie to us, Potter!” Severus snapped.  
  
“I’m not!” retorted the boy. “Just because you don’t see me there doesn't mean I haven't been –”  
  
“I don’t need to see anything,” said Severus. “I’ve seen enough this morning to know you’re lying, Potter.”  
  
“Severus, please,” said McGonagall sharply, losing her patience. “Explain.”  
  
Severus took a step back from Potter and looked at the Headmistress.  
  
“Miss Granger’s mind may be harmed by inactivity if she continues to sleep through the days. I had assumed that she had enough visitors to keep her from danger, but this morning her mind was – weaker than usual. She admitted to sleeping more than was necessary, saying it was difficult to stay awake with nobody in the room. I have no reason to believe she would lie, or that she would forget any – visitors.”  
  
McGonagall drew a breath.  
  
“Thank you, Severus. We will discuss this later.”  
  
McGonagall checked the time and said, “I’ve got to meet with the Minister in five minutes. Potter, Weasley –”  
  
“We know,” said Potter. “We’re sorry. I didn’t think – I mean, I guess we’ve just been busier than we realized.”  
  
“Very well,” said McGonagall. “I trust you will convey Professor Snape’s concern to Miss Granger’s other friends.”  
  
She gave Severus a nod and left. Potter and Weasley went immediately in the direction of the infirmary, but not before giving him curious looks. Severus was left alone in the corridor, feeling very strange. He should have spoken to McGonagall privately. It was unsettling to have Potter look at him with anything short of loathing.


	8. The Secret

For the first time, Hermione admitted how serious her situation was. If it were not for Professor Snape she might already be fading. Snape had sounded gravely concerned, and it was clear that he did not think there was much hope for her recovery. Hermione had no trouble staying awake now.  
  
Despite the sudden, heavy depression over her probable future weighing on her mind, Hermione's optimistic nature refused to be repressed. She was immensely grateful that Professor Snape had survived not only Nagini's attack, but the effects of Voldemort's curse. If anyone could help her, it was Snape. If they had both been trapped, frozen like statues, Hermione would have spent the rest of her life in St. Mungo’s, assumed to be in some sort of magical coma, slowly driven to insanity by the solitude. After all, it had only taken her friends a few weeks to stop visiting, even when they knew that she was still conscious, trapped in her body.  
  
It was her friends' neglect that hurt the most, far more than the discovery that she was literally in danger of losing her mind. She was sure that if one of them were in her place she would spend hours in the infirmary, most likely reading to them.  
  
If only someone would read to her! Hermione had never gone for so long without cracking a book. Even when she and the boys were on the run she had brought a small library of books with her – anything she had thought might be remotely useful – and read them over and over.  
  
Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted by the Healer from St. Mungo’s who came every few days to check on her. Today he barely looked at her before sighing and scratching something on his clipboard. He never talked to her, even though he must have been told that she was awake.  
  
Once the Healer was gone Hermione set herself to the task of staying awake. She began by reciting everything she could remember from _Hogwarts: a History_ twice. She was almost certain she had recited the entire book word for word, recalling each page and its images and paragraphs as clearly as if she held the book in her hands. It was still her favorite, after all her years at Hogwarts.  
  
Hermione had moved on to naming every potion she had ever made and listing the ingredients used when a soft tapping came to her attention. Someone cleared her throat and shuffled into her room. It was Ginny. Harry and Ron poked their heads in as well and then made their way to Hermione’s bedside. They all seemed to be in a terrible mood. Nobody said anything for a while. Finally, Harry spoke up.  
  
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for a few days, Hermione,” he said. “How – how are you? You still look – good.”  
  
Ginny elbowed Harry in the ribs and sighed.  
  
“I’m sorry too, Hermione. Mum’s been – well, you know. Dad’s taken to disappearing all the time. We’re all worried about him...” Her voice faltered and faded into a soft sniffle.  
  
“I’ve been at the Burrow with Dad, sorry I didn’t tell you,” said Ron. “We’re all going to stay here for a while, though. So, uh, I guess we’ll be seeing you a lot more.”  
  
Hermione was glad to see them, though a little confused as to their sudden appearance and apologies. Had Professor Snape said something to them, or had they come to the conclusion that she might miss them on their own? Snape _had_ been quite upset when she mentioned how much she had been sleeping in the absence of her usual visitors.  
  
They stayed a long while, through many awkward silences. Finally, Ron and Harry left together and Ginny stayed behind. She got up and sat cross-legged on Hermione’s bed.  
  
“Hermione, I really am sorry. The boys can be oblivious sometimes, but I should have thought about you more. It’s just that – well, our family’s falling apart. I thought it would have gotten better by now, but it’s worse. None of us want to go home. I guess it’s a little easier... staying here... for now. There’s going to be a – a ceremony – for everyone who died. I guess we’ll stay until then, but after that . . . how long are they going forget about real life? Dad hasn’t been to work yet, but I suppose the Ministry is such a mess right now it hardly matters.  
  
“Anyway,” she said as she wiped her eyes, “I’ll visit you more, I promise. Harry told me what Snape said... about how important it is for you to have someone talk to you. I’m scared for you, Hermione.”  
  
Ginny leaned over and gave Hermione a hug, sniffling once more right in her ear. Then she leaned back and studied Hermione’s face.  
  
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe that you’re really in there,” she whispered. “We miss you.”  
  
After Ginny left, Hermione went back to naming potions. She spent the rest of the day reciting and by dinnertime she felt like she had been doing mental gymnastics. She was exhausted, but still refused to sleep.  
  
Professor Snape and McGonagall came in after dinner, talking quietly as they entered. They walked right up to the bed, and McGonagall questioned her while Snape relayed her answers.  
  
“Miss Granger,” said McGonagall, “Severus has explained the situation, and we are going to make sure you have something to do even when there are no visitors for you. Is there anything in particular you would like?”  
  
With Snape studying her intently, Hermione answered.  
  
 _I’d like it if someone would read to me,_ she thought.  
  
Snape did not say anything until prompted by McGonagall, his eyes still fixed on Hermione's. She felt her own mind drawn toward him, searching the depths of his fathomless black eyes until she thought she sensed something stirring in the silence of the room.  
  
“Well, Severus?”  
  
“Miss Granger informs me that she would like for someone to read to her.”  
  
“I’m sure your friends would be glad to read to you, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall warmly. “For the times they are not around, we can arrange for someone – or something – else to entertain you.”  
  
 _It doesn’t have to be reading all the time . . . but it’s so quiet in here . . .perhaps some music?_  
  
“Music?” Snape sounded surprised.  
  
McGonagall stared at him.  
  
“Music... yes, of course,” she said. “Anything else?”  
  
 _It’s too bad Muggle things don’t work here,_ mused Hermione. _A television would be wonderful._  
  
“Though not necessarily – stimulating, Miss Granger.”  
  
She was surprised that he understood her offhand thoughts, even when she was not trying to project them to him. They must both be getting better at this unlikely form of communication.  
  
“What’s that?” asked McGonagall, frowning.  
  
“Miss Granger was lamenting the fact that certain Muggle inventions do not function on the grounds.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
 _I wonder why there’s no magical equivalent,_ thought Hermione. _There is magical radio, after all..._  
  
“It seems that we have not quite caught up with the Muggles,” said Snape, still looking at Hermione. McGonagall looked a bit put out. She cleared her throat.  
  
“If that’s all, Severus,” she said.  
  
Snape looked at the Headmistress.  
  
“Yes. For now that will be sufficient.”  
  
“Very well. I will see you in the morning.”  
  
There seemed to be some sort of warning in her voice. Hermione wondered what McGonagall and Snape had planned for the morning.  
  
 _I don’t think she likes not knowing what I’m saying,_ thought Hermione.  
  
Snape’s head snapped around.  
  
“What, Miss Granger?”  
  
He had heard her thoughts, and he was not even looking at her! Hermione rather thought he was just as surprised as she was at the moment.  
  
 _She doesn’t like not knowing what I say to you,_ Hermione reiterated.  
  
Snape only raised an eyebrow and turned to go, but then he paused.  
  
“Miss Granger, I wonder...”  
  
He came back and sat down beside her.  
  
“Try shouting your thoughts at me, as you did the very first time,” he said suddenly, and then he turned away from her and stared out the window.  
  
 _Okay,_ thought Hermione, amused by the excitement she sensed in his voice.  
  
 _CAN YOU HEAR ME, PROFESSOR?!_  
  
He gave no indication that he had, so she tried again.  
  
 _I SAID - CAN YOU HEAR ME?!_  
  
Still he sat with his head turned, waiting. Hermione sighed.  
  
 _NITWIT! BLUBBER! ODDMENT! TWEAK!_  
  
This time, his head jerked slightly as he winced.  
  
“That’s enough! I can hear you perfectly. Now stop shouting.”  
  
 _You didn’t hear me the first two times,_ thought Hermione.  
  
“I _did,_ ” he said, standing up, still not looking at her.  
  
 _How can you do this? I thought eye contact . . ._  
  
“Is not necessary – only preferable.”  
  
 _Why are you doing this?_  
  
Snape finally looked at her, his expression as impenetrable as ever.  
  
 _It may prove useful._  
  
Hermione’s mind was once again filled with his thoughts – his mind's voice, she supposed. It was rich and cool, full of energy, yet she could tell it was restrained, carefully kept within the forefront of her mind even as it easily invaded her thoughts. She suddenly realized that her mind was incredibly vulnerable to him, and she drew back instinctively.  
  
“Ah,” he said with a hint of a smirk. “I wondered when you might realize –”  
  
 _I trust you._  
  
Snape regarded her silently, but his eyes seemed to mock her. Perhaps he did not believe her.  
  
 _I’m just glad I can talk to someone. Thank you – for helping me._  
  
Hermione wished she had read more about Occlumency. She had meant to when Harry had been taking lessons, but it had been their O.W.L.s year, and along with everything else that was going on she had not had the time. There were some things in her mind she did not want Snape to see, even inadvertently. She was not sure that she liked him being able to listen to her thoughts whenever he wanted. She could tell when he was listening, but she suspected that he was purposefully letting her feel his presence. Perhaps he would not always do so.  
  
Snape had folded his arms and was looking out the window in her peripheral vision. He had shut her out. It was terribly inconvenient to always have to wait for him to decide when he wanted to hear her. Finally, he turned around.  
  
“Miss Granger, this type of – connection – is unprecedented. Never in recorded history has Legilimency been used in this way. Only now does the Headmistress begin to understand the ease with which we able to communicate, and you saw her discomfort. As of now, Legilimency is a little studied, difficult, and dangerous art. Many of the general population do not even believe it is a legitimate branch of magic, so little is it practiced. If it were widely known that mind to mind communication is possible...”  
  
 _I understand,_ thought Hermione.  
  
Snape came nearer to the bedside.  
  
“You have only begun to understand the risk involved in letting another person into your mind. It is, of course, your only option. Legilimency is a considered a Dark Art. It was developed as a weapon to control and break down minds. Those powerful enough to learn it have never been interested in anything as benign as mere... conversation.”  
  
 _Dumbledore..._ began Hermione.  
  
“Would not have allowed anyone access to his mind, no matter how accomplished an Occlumens _he_ might have been.”  
  
 _But surely if he trusted the person he might have communicated like this... with Legilimency. He didn't use it for evil._  
  
Snape was silent for a while.  
  
“Consider, Miss Granger... the former Headmaster had studied and mastered powerful, obscure Dark Magic long before the Dark Lord was even born.”  
  
That was all he said before he left, and Hermione was stunned by it. What did Professor Snape really think of Dumbledore? What did he think Hermione thought of Dumbledore?  
  
For a long time as a child, Dumbledore had represented the purest good to Hermione, but her estimation of him had changed over the years, especially the last year spent trying to figure out his riddles, and learning more about him in the process.  
  
It had taken her a while to realize that Dumbledore must have known what danger Harry could get into each year and allowed – if not encouraged – it all along. Dumbledore was vastly powerful, and he manipulated people, but he was good. Hermione thought she had come to terms with this view of him, but Snape’s words left her feeling uneasy. Did he think that Dumbledore could have become something as evil as Voldemort?  
  
Hermione’s days were now filled with visitors and soon she began to wish for a little solitude. Whenever she was alone, music played from some unknown location in the room. When it was not classical, it was a popular wizard’s radio station. The music would not play all the time, and she was thankful for that. Sometimes Dumbledore’s portrait would lecture her in various subjects or tell her stories. Hermione no longer had trouble staying awake, and she found that the transition from sleep to waking was more obvious.  
  
Her friends even began to read to her, as she had requested. Ginny was by far the best reader. Harry was terribly dull, and grew tired of the task quickly. Neville read in a monotone, Luna would forget that she was supposed to be reading aloud and ended up skipping parts, and Ron was – well, Ron was excruciatingly awful. Hermione had never realized that Ron could not read aloud. Now that she thought about it, she was not sure he ever read at all. She was beginning to regret helping him so much with his homework.  
  
Perhaps the real reason Hermione could not stand to have Ron read to her was not his stammering or his mispronunciations. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that Padma Patil liked to sit in the room while he read. Hermione had always thought Padma was the less irritating of the Patil twins, but now she could not stand the sight of her. Soon, she began showing up with Harry and Ginny as well, and even talking to Luna as if she were a real friend.  
  
Hermione’s worst fears were confirmed when Mrs. Weasley came to visit her one day. She talked for at least an hour, telling Hermione not only what was going on in the castle, but in the magical world beyond since the final battle. As Ginny had said, the Ministry was a mess. All efforts were being put into the trials and Azkaban was filling fast. There were not so many pardons this time for those who claimed to have been under the Imperious curse. Mrs. Weasley feared that innocent witches and wizards would face short sentences in Azkaban.  
  
“We are lucky that Professor Snape is still with us,” said Mrs. Weasley in a hushed tone. “When Minerva finally told the Minister that he was alive – well, you should have seen her face after that meeting! It took two hours of negotiation before they agreed to let him stay here and help you. We’re all going to be at his trial, whether he wants us there or not! Oh, he insists on going alone, and he won’t talk about the trial at all, but Arthur and I are going. Harry says he’ll come, if only because you need Severus so badly. Having Harry there to show his support should help things. Harry’s got a lot of influence these days. We’re afraid that even with all the evidence, he may face some time in Azkaban because of that mark – well, I suppose it's just a scar now – on his arm. But don’t worry, dear – he’s got the best working for him, and if he does have to go . . . well, it shouldn’t be for long. We’ll have someone in here with you constantly, and at least two Healers from St. Mungo’s to watch you. Oh dear, I’m probably worrying you to death, but Minerva said you should know what’s happening. Let’s talk about something else now.”  
  
Mrs. Weasley forced more brightness into her voice and continued.  
  
“I wonder that I’ve never heard of Padma Patil until now, though I do think I remember her sister. It’s wonderful that you’ve adopted her into your group. I notice that she’s been to visit you quite a bit. She’s having a much harder time of it than her sister, what with losing one of her friends on top of the disappearance of their parents.”  
  
Mrs. Weasley’s voice faltered into silence for a moment.  
  
“Harry and Ron have been so sweet to her. Her sister spends all her time with that Lavender girl and won’t have anything to do with them. Ginny’s even starting to come around, though she says Padma’s too 'girly'. I think sometimes my Ginny forgets that she’s a girl – she’s got too many brothers.”  
  
Mrs. Weasley smiled to herself faintly, then she patted Hermione’s arm. Why did everyone have to keep doing that?  
  
“I’ll talk with you later, Hermione. Ginny will be in later today.”  
  
Hermione watched her go, crushed. How could her friends have replaced her so quickly? If the fondness in Mrs. Weasley’s voice was any indication, Padma had been spending quite a bit of time with Ron lately, in addition to the reading sessions. Hermione felt the heat of her anger building. In all her visits, Ginny had not whispered a word about Padma. Wasn’t it Padma that Ron had taken to the Yule Ball? There was no need to relive _that_ night, as it would only make her angrier.  
  
How dare Ron abandon their... whatever it had been... after only a few weeks! She had thought that after all they had been through, after years of denial, every stolen moment together on the run, and certainly from the way he had kissed her the night of the battle, that finally they would really be together. She had thought that she loved him.  
  
Ron was not the only person on Hermione’s mind. Through the visits over the next week, she learned much more about her friends. It seemed that Luna had developed a crush on Neville, who did not appreciate the attention.  
  
“It makes me nervous,” he complained to Hermione. “It’s not that I don’t like Luna, she’s a great friend, but... she's so much smarter than me that I hardly know how to have a conversation with her. How can I go out with someone I don’t even know how to talk to?”  
  
 _Oh, Neville!_ thought Hermione, understanding his confusion. _Even if I could give you advice it wouldn’t be worth anything. I spent years thinking Ron was going to ask me out, another year thinking we were finally on the same page, and he’s already ditched me for the next bookish girl that came along._  
  
Neville’s love life was soon the least of Hermione’s worries. Harry and Ginny were fighting again, to the point that they no longer visited her together. Hermione had lost track of all the little grievances they brought to her, but it seemed that Ginny’s moodiness and Harry’s short temper were to blame.  
  
Sometimes Hermione truly wished that Snape had not told them to visit her so often. She was beginning to tire of listening to everyone’s problems. They seemed to forget who they were talking to, and used her as a convenient sounding board. Even McGonagall had come in once to question Dumbledore’s portrait, then sighed and said to Hermione before she left, “Sometimes I wish I had retired when I had the chance.”  
  
Professor Snape still came multiple times a day to check on her. She wondered if he was worried about the upcoming trial. He did not speak much, except to question her. Hermione thought he had improved greatly since the end of the war. He was still sarcastic, stern, and tended to swoop about like a bat, yet his manner was somehow softened. He was almost patient with her now, and he had actually told her that she had greater strength of mind than most people. That, coming from the professor who had previously mocked her in class, was nothing short of shocking. Hermione was now convinced that most of his former persona had been the carefully constructed cover of a spy.  
  
Hermione found further evidence of Snape’s new character – perhaps his true character – when Ron returned to read to her. It was unfortunate that Ron had proved to be the most dedicated of her readers, because Hermione truly hated listening to him. Once again, Padma had come along with him.  
  
“Hello, Hermione,” said Padma sweetly, as if she were talking to a child. “We’ve come to read to you again. Ron’s almost done with the book.”  
  
“You could have read it faster,” said Ron, but Hermione did not think he was speaking to her. He grinned rather dopily at Padma for a moment.  
  
 _Why doesn’t she read to me, then? If she’s going to be here all the time she could at least make herself useful!_  
  
Ron began to read and Hermione immediately tuned him out. Padma was in Ravenclaw and often had her nose in a book – why wasn’t she repulsed by such terrible reading? She sat cross-legged in her chair, listening quietly. She did not correct Ron when he mispronounced words, as Hermione was aching to do.  
  
 _Oh, isn’t there anyone else around here who can read? Or at least someone to get Ron out of here?!_  
  
Hermione did not think Ron had ever annoyed her so much. Annoyed was an understatement. She spent most of her time trying not to think about him, and he insisted on playing the part of her most devoted friend, probably to assuage the overwhelming guilt he was feeling (as he well should).  
  
“Weasley. Out.”  
  
Ron’s voice broke off abruptly, and Padma jumped. A dark shape filled the doorway.  
  
“You too, Miss Patil. Miss Granger has heard enough for today.”  
  
For the second time in her life, Hermione found that she was extremely happy to hear Professor Snape’s voice. Ron slammed the book shut and stood up. He and Padma left, much to Hermione’s relief.  
  
 _Thank you,_ she thought in a rush, before she realized how strange that must sound.  
  
 _Ron’s not much of a reader. None of them are, really. It’s just not as satisfying as reading it on my own. . ._  
  
Snape did not say anything. He sat down beside her, which he rarely did.  
  
He was still for a few long minutes, and Hermione began to get nervous. Finally, he moved his arm and pulled a small book from his robes. Leaning back in the chair, he opened it and took a moment to find his page. Then, he began to read.  
  
 _The first recorded Legilimens was Hordred III, though his brother, Mordred, claimed it was he who first invaded the mind of a Baamadian spy. In any case, the two brothers developed what they termed the Theory of Mind Control, which is what they set out to do. Their efforts were recorded by their nephew, Admur, though not in their entirety due to his murder in the third Last War..._  
  
Hermione was astonished, to say the least. Professor Snape was reading to her! His thoughts flowed easily into hers. It was as if she were reading the words right off the page, but it was his voice that sent them into her mind – that cool, controlled voice that made her head tingle. It was soothing to her hurting, angry mind. Hermione was embarrassed that she found Professor Snape comforting, but if anyone looked in the room they would only see him sitting by her bed, reading to himself. Strange as that may seem, the truth was much stranger.


	9. The Dream

Severus read to Hermione for at least thirty minutes. At first he steeled himself for an interruption, ready to hide the book immediately, but soon he relaxed and forgot that he had an audience at all. He finished the first section of the book and quietly closed the cover.  
  
 _Thank you,_ she thought at once.  
  
Severus inclined his head slightly, but he had no reply. The reality of what had just happened was beginning to hit him. He had just read to Hermione Granger. He had sent her idiot friends away and taken it upon himself to read to Granger – an irritating know-it-all, friend of Potter, hand-waving, bushy-haired, Gryffindor teenager.  
  
Reeling, Severus stood and fled.  
  
What had come over him lately? Ever since the day he learned that Hermione’s friends had stopped visiting her he had felt... different. He did and said things without thinking. He woke up in the mornings feeling strangely good, but he could not hang on to sleep long enough to recall the dreams that haunted him. It had been a long time since Severus felt so out of control. He did not like it.  
  
He did not know exactly when he had stopped thinking of her as annoying Granger, Potter’s overachieving friend. It must have been when he first began to compare her to Lily and started to pity her for being used by James Potter's son. Forcing himself to remember Granger as an eleven-year-old show-off, he fled to his office and collapsed into his chair.  
  
Opening books wildly, Severus resumed his research. He would find a way to help Granger, and then he would be rid of her. If he continued with this sentimental rubbish . . . at best, the entire magical world would think he had gone soft. At worst, rumors would fly that he harbored inappropriate feelings for a student. It would have been better if Potter had given his memories to the Prophet! Better to be known for unrequited love than to be thought some sort of mawkish lecher. It would take nothing more than someone walking in to see him sitting by her bedside, reading, to start the rumors. Everyone knew he would never have done such a thing before, even for one of his Slytherins.  
  
Severus fell asleep at his desk some hours later. He woke up only when a rap on the door startled him.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Severus sat upright and hastily removed the piece of parchment that was stuck to the side of his face.  
  
“Severus, it’s me,” answered Minerva's impatient voice.  
  
“Enter,” he said, striving to conceal the sleep in his eyes.  
  
“Severus,” she began as soon as she was seated in front of him, “we need to talk about the tomorrow's trial.”  
  
“I’d rather not,” Severus interrupted sharply. “What more could possibly be said on the subject?”  
  
She fixed him with a steely glare.  
  
“I’m not here to waste your time,” she said. “I have precious little of it to spare myself. I just received notice from the Ministry that the time of the trial has been changed, once again, to 8 o’clock. They say it’s to discourage the press, but I’ll believe that when squibs fly. You must be prepared – ”  
  
“I – am – prepared,” said Severus through gritted teeth.  
  
“There is one more thing,” she said, and paused.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“They want to see your memories from the last moments in the battle, when Miss Granger saved you.”  
  
McGonagall’s mouth was a thin line.  
  
“It seems multiple eyewitness accounts are not sufficient evidence for the court.”  
  
Silence filled the space between them. Severus shifted slightly.  
  
“Are not sufficient evidence of what, exactly?”  
  
She exhaled loudly, as if she had been holding her breath.  
  
“It has been proposed that Miss Granger may not have acted of her own free will . . . or that perhaps the curse was not cast by Voldemort at all. In short, they propose that you are using Miss Granger as a means to stay out of Azkaban, and that her status is either truly incurable, as the Healers say, or that you are in fact keeping her in a state of paralysis with Dark Magic.”  
  
“On what grounds do they make such assertions?!” demanded Severus. “There is no evidence to support anything of the sort!”  
  
“Unfortunately, your treatment of the Healers has not helped matters. One of them is going to testify against you, and even if we tell them about the Legilimency now, it will be discounted or cited as proof that you still practice Dark Magic.”  
  
“Who – is – it?” Severus snarled in anger. It had to be Healer Minkas – that smug, arrogant, incompetent fool!  
  
“Furthermore,” McGonagall continued, raising her voice slightly and ignoring Severus, “you know as well as I do that they will use whatever evidence they can find to put you in Azkaban this time. They want to prove they’re in control. There will be innocent people in Azkaban soon enough to make up for the fact that Death Eaters are too hard to catch. Every reporter in the country is going to be at your trial. You must be careful.”  
  
“I am never anything less.”  
  
McGonagall studied him for a moment.  
  
“I don’t pretend to know you, Severus, even after all these years. None of us really did, but I will tell you this – if you can’t convince the court that they have seen the real Severus Snape, and that he is the hero we claim he is, you don’t stand a chance.”  
  
Severus folded his arms and scowled.  
  
“Playing the hero –” he began.  
  
“Is what you must do!” McGonagall’s eyes widened. “Severus, you may be stubborn enough to risk your own life in Azkaban, but yours is not the only one you risk tomorrow! Miss Granger –”  
  
“Enough,” said Snape softly. McGonagall stared at him and he glared back.  
  
“I will play the hero tomorrow, Minerva, or perhaps I should say, ‘play the Gryffindor’ for I believe your house will be the inspiration for my performance. I rather wonder that you find it necessary to remind me of that fact, considering that I have spent the last –”  
  
“Then we are in agreement,” cut in McGonagall. “I needed to confirm that we had an understanding. It would not do to have any surprises from our side of the proceedings tomorrow. I will see you in the morning.”  
  
“In the morning,” agreed Severus.  
  
“Good night, Severus,” she said, standing.  
  
Severus only bowed his head in her direction as she left the room. He then pinched the bride of his nose and massaged his temples. He left his books for the night, opting to make an effort at adequate sleep. Though he had been sleeping remarkably well, he suspected that tonight would be an exception.  
  
Later, Severus stared at the ceiling waiting for sleep. He was anxious about the trial, mostly for Granger’s sake. Even a short visit to Azkaban might mean the difference between life and death for her. He was more worried about leaving her at the mercy of the Healers while he was gone than anything else. He was confident in his ability to act the part of the hero, though he was certainly not looking forward to the attention it would bring. He planned on walking out of the courtroom a free man, fleeing the press, and returning to the sanctuary of Hogwarts.  
  
Minerva was adamant that no reporters be permitted on the grounds and the castle itself seemed to agree with her. Already, two unfortunate members of the press had been found lost in dark secluded corridors, and had promptly been escorted to the gates. The house elves had been ordered to give any unwelcome visitors a hard time.  
  
Yes, Severus would soon be back, he had no doubt. Their defense was strong, and having the press there would work to their advantage. The worst that would come of it all would be the loss of his reputation and the annoyance of fame. Severus did not like people. He did not seek their admiration, but he did demand respect.  
  
Severus fell asleep more quickly than such thoughts should have allowed him. He slipped effortlessly into sleep and dreams while imagining what might happen the next day in the courtroom.  
  
 _He was in the courtroom, but he was the only one there. A Pensieve stood before him, a utilitarian basin that lacked the grace of Dumbledore’s piece. He knew that they – the mysteriously absent Wizengot – wanted to see his memories of the battle, and he confidently added them to the bowl. They swirled and pulled him in at once, and he was back in the battle, killing the snake. He watched the moments leading up to the curse in a flash, but the moment Granger’s face appeared in front of his own, time slowed down. He found himself studying her face as she was hit, her hair flying everywhere, her eyes impossibly wide. She was gasping as the curse struck her, and a few moments later Severus felt it touch his side as well, a cold caress that froze his body. They began to fall.  
  
As Severus fell along with Granger, he began to feel inexplicably warm. The icy coldness in his side began to fade and the warmth coursed through him until he felt as though he must be positively glowing with it. His vision became bright, and all around Granger’s frozen face the air was shimmering white. Her features were barely visible in the brightness, but her wide unmoving eyes fixed on his took hold of something in him and twisted it in a knot. First astonishment, then gratitude, and finally regret found him and he desperately wished he could have taken the curse that was meant for him and set her free. Her innocence and wasted sacrifice was too much. He thought of the Dark Lord standing triumphant over them and felt such a strong stab of hatred that for a moment it seemed he might actually be able to jump up and avenge the girl. In that suspended moment, Severus loved Hermione Granger, or at least everything she stood for. She was light itself now, her form completely hidden by the bright mist in his vision, though he thought he could just make out her eyes before him, warm and brown, or were they striking green?_  
  
Severus opened his eyes to the morning light, which seemed faint after the intense brightness of the dream. The room was still quite dim, as the sun was just beginning to rise. He sat in his bed, unwilling to shake the sleep from his head, and stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Today, of all days, he remembered the dream perfectly. He still felt warm, as if he were outside basking in the midday sun instead of wrapped in bedclothes in the faint light of early morning. He was unused to the feeling, since he did not spend a great deal of time out of doors.  
  
There was nothing to do but get up and get ready for the trial. Severus refused to dwell on the dream this morning.  
  
He spent an obscene amount of time charming his hair, with the mirror slyly whispering unhelpful comments the entire time. The result was sleek, soft hair without a hint of the limp sheen that would normally develop within hours, but it was far too tedious to be repeated daily. It was likely that it would stubbornly revert back to its normal state by mid-day. Now, however, it looked healthier and brushed his face lightly as it hung in its typical curtains.  
  
He sighed and tied his hair back into a ponytail. It looked ridiculous, but Minerva had suggested it for the trial, saying that he looked too sinister with his hair hanging in his face all the time. In any case, it would hardly ruin his reputation anymore than his performance in the courtroom would very shortly.  
  
Severus tapped his foot impatiently and watched the second hand on the clock perform its slow circle. He still had fifteen minutes before he had to meet Minerva and Floo to the Ministry, where guards would be waiting to usher him before the court. He grimaced at his reflection, pulled out the ponytail and began pacing around the room.  
  
A few minutes later he stomped back over to the mirror and put his hair back again. He wasted time flipping through a book, skimming paragraphs mindlessly. It took him five minutes to realize that it was the same book he had read to Granger the night before. He dropped it as if it were cursed and resumed his pacing.  
  
“Severus!”  
  
Severus spun around to see Minerva’s head sitting in his fire.  
  
“It’s not like you to be . . .” she coughed and muttered a few choice words about Floo powder, “...late. I’m glad to see you took my advice about the hair.”  
  
Severus glared at her. Her eyes widened.  
  
“Quickly!”  
  
She disappeared. Severus squared his shoulders and cleared his mind. His countenance was calm and collected, he was impeccably groomed, and he was prepared to channel Potter for the day. If all went as planned, he could sit and read to Granger when he returned. In his current state of mind, Severus did not notice that the thought was accompanied by a feeling of comfortable anticipation.


	10. The Nightmare

Today was Snape’s trial. Hermione was alone in her room listening to Dumbledore’s portrait snore. She could tell it was early morning because each time of day had its own type of silence, and mornings were the most delicate. The soft morning light made her eyelids glow pale yellow. Even Madam Pomfrey was at the trial because she and McGonagall were going to testify on Snape’s behalf. It would be an all day affair.  
  
Hermione heard muffled voices in the hall and strained to hear them. Then the door opened.  
  
“Go on. I’m going to meet your father at the gate.”  
  
Mrs. Weasley’s voice was a loud whisper.  
  
“All right, I’ll be down in a minute,” said Ginny. She walked quietly over to Hermione and sat on the bed as usual.  
  
“Hermione, we’re all leaving for Snape’s trial, so we won’t be in today. I hope you don’t get too bored by yourself.”  
  
Ginny sighed loudly.  
  
“Well, I had better go or they’ll leave without me. I’ll come back and tell you all about it.”  
  
Ginny slid off the bed and a few seconds later the door clicked shut. Once again, Hermione was blessedly alone, though Dumbledore’s portrait had stopped snoring. Hermione hoped he would not talk to her for a while. The portrait had been given the task of entertaining her when nobody else was available. Hermione did not know who had told the portrait to lecture her in the seventh year subject matter, but most days she appreciated it.  
  
It seemed that literally everyone was attending the trial. Hermione was especially proud of Harry for supporting Snape, even though he still disliked the professor greatly. Ron had grudgingly agreed to go with his family, saying he wasn’t sure that Snape was really helping Hermione at all. Apparently he was not the only one with doubts. Through her various visitors, Hermione had gathered that many people outside the castle thought Snape was just using Hermione to stay out of Azkaban, but Hermione would not believe it. He had read to her, and he was worried when she slept too much. Could it all be an act?  
  
Hermione decided that even if Snape was using her, she would not care. She did not believe for a moment that he was not truly trying to help her, but if her situation really was incurable, at least she would be able to keep him out of Azkaban. At least she had someone who could hear her.  
  
Hermione’s solitude was interrupted a while later when Dumbledore’s portrait decided it was time for another lesson. This time the subject was Transfiguration. Hermione could not help being drawn into the complexities of magical theory, and she soon forgot her worries about the trial.  
  
It must have been more than an hour later when she caught herself dozing. She realized that the portrait had stopped lecturing and was now recounting a story from Dumbledore’s school days involving a girl named Greta Hornspout and her obsession with centaurs. Apparently she had some talent at Transfiguration and had attempted to become a centaur. Needless to say, it had not turned out well.  
  
“Ah, yes, poor Greta was never the same. She dropped out of school and we never heard from her again. I believe it’s safe to say that –”  
  
“This is it, Flores, she’s got her own room, you see.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Two Healers had entered Hermione’s sanctuary. One had very heavy footsteps and the other, a young woman from the sound of her voice, wore shoes that clicked sharply. The first sounded like a middle-aged man, and Hermione imagined that he was out of shape by the labored breaths he took after climbing the stairs.  
  
“Make sure you observe her every hour and mark any changes on the chart, here,” said the first Healer. “I don’t expect anything new, but that’s what we’re here for.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“I’ll do the first chart, and then I’ve got to get back and check on my other patients. Contact me if there are any surprises.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Hermione wondered just how long Flores had been a Healer. She sounded nervous. The first Healer left and Hermione heard the shuffling of papers, which she assumed meant that Flores was looking through her charts. Then Hermione heard the click-click of her heels as she paced the room and stopped by the rose window. Dumbledore’s portrait was pretending to be asleep again, snoring a little too loudly. The heel clicks made their way over to the chair by the bed and Flores sighed as she sat down. Dumbledore’s portrait stopped snoring.  
  
“There is a library here, my dear. Why don’t you make use of it?”  
  
“Oh!”  
  
Flores jumped out of the chair with a clatter.  
  
“Thank you, I will,” she said politely, and clicked away.  
  
Hermione laughed to herself.  
  
“Let us hope she has good taste in books, Miss Granger,” said the portrait. “Perhaps I will convince her to read to us.”  
  
 _As long as she’s better than Ron, I won’t complain,_ thought Hermione.  
  
A long while later, Flores returned and sat down in the chair again. Hermione could hear the flipping of pages every minute or so as the Healer read.  
  
Before long, the portrait spoke up once more.  
  
“I wonder, Healer Flores, if you might read aloud? Though I am only a portrait, I confess I do enjoy a good book from time to time. _Five Tales of a Dragon Hunter_ sounds immensely enjoyable.”  
  
“I – suppose I could –”  
  
“Splendid!”  
  
“I –”  
  
It seemed that Flores could think of no objection and was intimidated enough by the portrait that she complied.  
  
Hermione was happy with the Healer’s reading, though it did not compare to Snape’s the night before. The Healer’s voice was soft and low and she had a hint of an accent. It was not as smooth as Snape’s, nor did it offer Hermione any comfort, but the Healer read fluidly and not once did she stumble over a word or skip a sentence.  
  
Flores read on, stopping twice to check on Hermione again before settling back down to read. Hermione wondered that she could read for so long without her voice cracking. She checked Hermione a third time, and then finally her voice grew softer, and Hermione began to miss some of the words. The Healer’s voice wavered and she stopped reading. Hermione heard her gasp.  
  
A warm hand touched Hermione’s face, then trembling fingers rested on her arm.  
  
“Oh, no!”  
  
The Healer touched Hermione’s chest lightly, and Hermione realized that it had ceased to rise and fall in its normal rhythm. The hand on her chest rose only a few millimeters at most.  
  
“What is it, Healer?” asked the portrait.  
  
“She’s become stone cold! And only in the past – ” she paused, presumably to check her watch, “twenty minutes! She’s nearly stopped breathing!”  
  
The Healer sounded frantic. She scribbled something on the clipboard and ran out of the room.  
  
Hermione’s heart beat faintly in her chest, when it should have been pounding and sending blood rushing through her body along with a boost of adrenaline. She wondered how she was still conscious. Her mind did not seem to be affected by the sudden turn of events, but she felt very cold, stone cold, just as Flores had said.  
  
Hermione was determined to pay close attention to what she felt. When Snape came back she would tell him exactly what was happening to her body. Was it just her imagination that her mind felt more sluggish now?  
  
Dumbledore’s portrait began speaking again, telling nonsense stories to fill the silence. Hermione listened and waited for the click of the Healer’s heels to signal her return. Dumbledore’s voice sounded far away and she could no longer concentrate on it. Why hadn’t Flores come back yet?  
  
Finally, she heard Flores approach, accompanied by at least two others.  
  
“Oh, my!”  
  
The Healer from that morning was back.  
  
“This happened within an hour? After weeks and weeks with no change?! The Ministry will have my head if she dies on our watch!”  
  
“I’d be more worried about what Snape will do!” exclaimed a third voice, which Hermione recognized as one of the Healers who had attended her before.  
  
“Sir, what should we do?” Flores whispered anxiously.  
  
“Cast a warming spell, Flores,” said the supervisor. “I’m going to try to contact to Madam Pomfrey.”  
  
“Will that work, sir?”  
  
“Well, we can’t very well say we did nothing, can we?” he barked back. “Do whatever you can think of! Jenkins, assist her. I’ll be back.”  
  
Though the Healers cast warming spells and covered her in blankets, Hermione felt no warmth.  
  
“You must get Severus,” said Dumbledore’s portrait for the fifth time, but they ignored him.  
  
“Look at her skin,” said Jenkins. “It’s so pale it looks grey.”  
  
“Do you think she looks thinner?” asked Flores. Jenkins didn’t answer.  
  
“What if we treat her as a petrification victim?”  
  
“But she’s still breathing!”  
  
“No, I don’t think so . . .”  
  
“Yes, she is,” insisted Flores. “Look!”  
  
Hermione continued to feel nothing but cold. She settled into a state of tranquil indifference. Perhaps she was dying. She wondered what it was like to die. Harry had seen Dumbledore when he died, but then, had he really been dead?  
  
Hermione tuned out the Healers’ voices and began to drift off. Staying awake meant listening to two St. Mungo’s Healers tell one another how awful she looked. She would rather not know that she already looked like death.  
  
Hermione fell asleep and into disturbing dreams. She dreamt of the battle and in her dream she was crying, seeing Tonks and Remus and Fred. She dreamt of Snape in the Shrieking Shack, lying in pools of blood, so much blood!  
  
Hermione relived that day in bleak flashes of memory, one fading as another appeared, sometimes repeating two or three times.  
  
 _Snape returned to the battle, and she saw the battle in much greater detail than ever before. She saw the fierce faces of her friends as they defended one another. She saw Neville trip over a wounded Luna and cry out in horror.  
  
Hermione was dodging curses from one Death Eater, when she saw Harry enter and quickly fall to Voldemort’s curse. Then, two more Death Eaters seemed to appear out of nowhere and one of them easily disarmed her. Hermione knew she was going to die. They laughed because they knew the game had begun – a mouse and three cats.  
  
Three curses flew from raised wands, and Hermione dove away from them, surprised at her own speed, but then she gasped in surprise as a fourth curse hit her back. Snape’s face registered in her vision. She was falling, she was dying, and the world was turning black while she desperately clung to her last sight of it: Professor Snape’s astonished, frozen expression. She had not saved him... she had not even tried. Harry was dead, Snape was dead, Hermione was dead, and Voldemort was winning. Perhaps it was better to die._  
  
Hermione relived the memory over and over in her dream.  
  
 _They had failed, she had failed, and Snape was dead. If only she had seen him, if only she had jumped a fraction of a second sooner! She would not mind dying so much if Snape was alive to defeat Voldemort. They had been wrong about him all along, she was sure of it... but he was dead now, just like her. She was screaming inside her head as she fell once again, screeching with anger. . ._  
  
“Good lord! That’s a phoenix!”  
  
Hermione heard Jenkins and Flores scrambling around the bed, both yelping when the creature let out another loud screech.  
  
“What have you fools done?!”  
  
Snape was back!  
  
“Sir, we have done nothing!” exclaimed Jenkins.  
  
Flores’ voice rose up with firm conviction to correct her colleague.  
  
“What he means, sir, is there is nothing we _can_ do.”  
  
“Get out.”  
  
“Where is Madam Pomfrey, Professor? I believe we sent for her as well.”  
  
Jenkins did not sound as confident as his colleague had.  
  
“Get. OUT!”  
  
Fawkes screeched again, for Hermione was sure he must be the phoenix they spoke of. The fading click of Flores’ heels was barely audible over Fawkes’ rebuke. There was a whooshing sound and the door slammed shut. A dead silence filled the air, making Hermione feel colder than ever.  
  
 _I’m here, I’m here!_ she thought desperately with all her strength, but her thoughts seemed to echo in her head.  
  
Warm fingers brushed across her face and lifted her eyelids at last, the magic tingling sharply against her cold flesh. Snape stood above her, with Fawkes perched precariously on his shoulder. Strangely, his hair was pulled back, and a few limp strands lay against his face.  
  
“I can hear you,” he said quietly, his eyes finding hers. “Your thoughts are weak. What happened?”  
  
Immense relief washed over Hermione. She did not know what she would have done if he had not been able to hear her.  
  
 _I got very cold,_ she said. _I'm not sure when it started, since I hardly noticed at first. I think I may have stopped breathing at one point. But now . . ._  
  
Hermione could still feel the rise and fall of her chest, though it was still slow and faint. Snape’s eyes flicked down to verify the fact.  
  
 _I fell asleep,_ she thought. _I dreamed about the battle. I was able to remember – a little more._  
  
Hermione did not want to tell him what she had dreamed. She did not want to tell him that she had not meant to save him, and that her sacrifice was nothing but sheer accident.  
  
“What else do you remember?” he prompted, sounding distracted.  
  
 _I remember Neville tripping over Luna and screaming. I remember that one of the three Death Eaters was a woman, and I remember that I thought you and I were dead._  
  
Fawkes trilled softly above her and shifted on Snape’s shoulder, causing him to flinch.  
  
 _Where did you find Fawkes?_  
  
“Fawkes found _me,_ Miss Granger, much to the dismay of the Ministry. He arrived at a most – opportune – moment.”  
  
“Did he really? Well done, Fawkes,” said Dumbledore’s portrait with pride.  
  
 _What happened? Are you free?_  
  
Hermione thought she detected the tiniest hint of smugness in his eyes.  
  
“I am.”  
  
He did not seem ready to volunteer any more information about the trial. Hermione was just glad that he had returned so quickly. Listening to Healers argue about how long she would be living had been the worst way to spend her day.  
  
 _What’s happening to me?_  
  
Snape’s eyes became guarded again.  
  
“I do not know.”  
  
Hermione could not think of anything else to say, but her head no longer felt quite so cold and empty with Snape talking to her and she did not want him to leave.  
  
 _Do I really look dead?_ she asked. _The Healers said I did._  
  
Snape blinked and studied her for a moment.  
  
“Except for your shallow breathing . . . yes,” he seemed to say almost to himself.  
  
 _I’m dying?_  
  
Hermione just wanted the truth, and if anyone would give it to her, it was Snape. He continued to study her thoughtfully.  
  
“I think not,” he said.  
  
Hermione felt some of the coldness leave her chest and her breathing became freer. Snape sat down next to the bed, and Fawkes moved to perch on the back of the chair.  
  
Just as before, he pulled out the little book from his robes and began to read so that only she could hear. By the time he finished the next section, only Hermione’s feet were still cold, and when he returned to check on her the next morning, she had long been fully returned to her state of healthy paralysis.  
  
Snape's hair was back to it normal curtains, and he was grave and said little to her that morning, though he did tell her that Fawkes was currently residing in his office when she asked about him.  
  
Hermione was counting on Ginny to keep her promise to tell her about the trial, and she was not disappointed. Sometime before lunch Ginny came and resumed her usual cross-legged position on Hermione’s bed.  
  
“Hermione, you won’t believe it!” said Ginny as she climbed onto the bed. “Watching the trial yesterday was better than Quidditch! Even Ron was glad he came!”  
  
Ginny suddenly looked over her shoulder, then grabbed her wand and shut the door to the room. She turned back to Hermione with a smile.  
  
“Where should I begin? We all got there early and we just sat around forever before they brought Snape in. When they finally did you should have seen the jaws drop! He had his hair in a ponytail, and it looked like he had actually washed it for once! Cameras were flashing all over the place, until the Minister made them stop.”  
  
Ginny giggled.  
  
“Snape looked like he was sucking on a lemon for about thirty seconds, then he stopped scowling and actually smiled at a reporter! It was really creepy. So they started the trial, and they said all these ridiculous things about him and a Healer got up on the stand to support them. Snape didn’t even look angry, he just waited for them to finish. Then it was the defense’s turn and we had tons of witnesses, and the Minister kept getting annoyed when they’d call another one.”  
  
Ginny took a breath. Hermione found it amusing that Ginny sounded like a Quidditch announcer recounting a match. Even more amusing was that she saw herself as part of Snape’s team.  
  
“Then we had a break, and then it was time for the Pensieve evidence, and they had some sort of projection screen for the Pensieve that was amazing – it was like we were all with Snape in the final battle. Actually, it wasn’t perfectly clear from the memories that Voldemort was the one to cast the curse, because he was so far away and you jumped right in the way. In the end the prosecution kept saying how there was no proof that the spell was cast by Voldemort, and McGonagall’s face was turning all shades of red, because she had just testified that she saw Voldemort cast the curse. So then they started going on about how Snape is a spy, untrustworthy, and that he was a master of deception to have played both sides and that even Albus Dumbledore could have played right into his hands when they planned his death, and that we had to trust the evidence and that the Dark Mark on his arm was put there before he became a spy.”  
  
Ginny’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she told the next part of the story.  
  
“Then all of sudden there was a burst of fire and _Fawkes_ appeared out of nowhere and flew around the room making a terrible racket. Everyone went crazy, cameras flashing, people screaming, the guards tried to stun him, but he was too fast. It didn’t take long for everyone to realize that it was a phoenix, and the guards settled down after that. He landed on the floor right in front of Snape and just stared at him for a while. Then, he touched his beak to the floor, and it reminded me of a hippogriff when it bows, and he flew right up to sit on Snape’s shoulder! All the cameras were still going off, and the Minister was just gaping. We knew it was all over then, but the defense still got up and made their case, though all they really had to do was point to Fawkes and say, ‘There’s your proof’!”  
  
Ginny rocked back and took another breath.  
  
“Everyone mobbed Snape when he left, with Fawkes still on his shoulder, but apparently someone told Madam Pomfrey just before the trial ended that you were in bad shape, and then she told Snape, and he was gone before anybody knew what had happened. We could hardly get away ourselves because the press kept asking us questions about Snape and if we had seen Fawkes with Snape before and whether it really was Dumbledore’s phoenix…”  
  
Ginny took another breath and the door opened.  
  
“Ginny?”  
  
Padma poked her head in.  
  
“Hello, Hermione, I’m glad you’re better today,” she said brightly. “Ginny – Ron, Harry and I are ready…but don’t rush if you’re not finished.”  
  
She smiled apologetically and shut the door with a soft click. Ginny sat in silence for a moment then slid off the bed.  
  
“I know what you’re thinking, Hermione, but she’s really not that bad, and Mum keeps telling me I should ‘help her through this difficult time’. I’m not fooled though. She’s only hoping I’ll start doing more ‘girl’ things instead of playing Quidditch all the time.”  
  
Ginny laughed, but she sounded nervous.  
  
 _Like you’re hiding something, Ginny,_ fumed Hermione. Ginny had yet to mention the fact that Ron seemed to like Padma as much as his mother did.  
  
Ginny left and Hermione made herself stop thinking about Ron. She wished that she could have been at the trial to see Fawkes make his entrance. It was unbelievable that the phoenix had returned to Hogwarts, and that he had come to Snape. Everyone had assumed that he had gone forever when Dumbledore died.  
  
Phoenixes were the subject of much folklore and represented the purest good in the magical world. It was believed a phoenix would never choose an evil master, and never a master who was disloyal to a former master. In fact, it was extremely rare that a phoenix would choose a master at all and the fact that Fawkes had already been with Dumbledore for so long must be the reason he had returned now. From what she knew of Fawkes, he was an extraordinary phoenix. Phoenixes were peaceful, gentle creatures, and it was a mark of his loyalty to Dumbledore that he fought in battles and aided Harry against the basilisk. From his timely appearance at the trial, it seemed that he always knew when he was needed. Snape was very lucky to have the loyalty of such a creature. Hermione imagined the beautiful red and gold bird sitting in Snape’s gloomy office and felt a little sad. Perhaps Fawkes would brighten up the place.


	11. The Article

Severus woke again from pleasant dreams to the pale light of morning. He rolled over and smashed his face into his pillow, unwilling to face the day. It was a daily chore to avoid people now that he was officially a war hero. The reporters were becoming more daring with their attempts to find him inside the castle. Thankfully, most of the students and families had returned to their homes and the halls were emptier now. The Weasleys, however, were still making regular appearances, bringing Potter with them to visit Granger.  
  
It had been almost another week. Granger was no better or worse than before the trial, and he was no closer to discovering a cure. He had hoped that her quick recovery meant that she was fighting off the curse, just as he had revived after appearing dead in the infirmary, but it was likely that her recovery would take much longer, given the long duration of the curse over her body... if she was actually recovering.  
  
Severus wondered how the curse might still be affecting him. He felt absolutely fine, was healthier than he had been in years, and had been sleeping exceptionally well. If the curse had a trigger, would it affect him as well as Granger? It was highly unlikely but not impossible, given the instability of trigger curses. It was much more likely that he had been able to overcome the curse only because he had been touched by such a small bit of it.  
  
Severus grunted and lifted his head off his pillow. He had not even had breakfast and already he was worrying about Granger. There was precious little else to occupy his time or thoughts. He supposed he should be helping Minerva manage the school now that he was no longer hiding from the public.  
  
Would he stay at Hogwarts? For the first time in his life, he was in a position to consider leaving, and he was surprised to find that it was not tempting. There was nothing in the world for Severus Snape. He had no friends, no family, no plans, and no purpose. He had not expected to be alive long enough for it to matter. No, he would not leave Hogwarts. Not yet. He could not face the world yet, and at least he knew what to expect from each new crop of dunderheads.  
  
There was something else, wavering at the edge of his mind, that he did not want to acknowledge. It felt like worry – or dare he say concern? He had never before allowed himself the arrogance of thinking that Hogwarts needed him, or that his careful protection of the students during his year as Headmaster had stemmed from anything more than a sense of duty and his promise to Dumbledore. He had done what he had to do to survive and keep Potter alive.  
  
In the deepest, most protected recesses of his mind, he had enjoyed every small action he took that undermined the Dark Lord’s plan. He had rebelled against his first and last master in every way possible without giving up his position. He had reveled in his duplicity, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction every time his careful manipulation saved a student from the Carrows' punishments, and every time the Dark Lord swallowed his lies without questioning his loyalty. Still, he had not allowed a hint of honest concern for the students to touch his heart. It could easily have meant his immediate punishment, and death.  
  
At least he had been able to let out some of his dark moods in the classroom, and he had felt completely justified in it, as it cemented his persona as The-Evil-Spy-Who-Fooled-Even-Dumbledore. It was expected that with Dumbledore gone he would be nastier than ever. At first the game had been fun to play, and he had found it amusing to rile up the Gryffindors, even if Potter and Weasley were not there to challenge him.  
  
However, with the increasing danger to the school, Voldemort’s reign coming closer to fruition every day, and Severus’ efforts to carry out the last of Dumbledore’s orders, Severus had not even enjoyed intimidating the first years into complete silence with a single look (a carefully honed skill). If he had allowed himself to reflect on that development, he would have had a lot more to disguise from the Dark Lord. Severus Snape did not have emotions – he could not afford such a weakness. Only anger was acceptable, only bitterness was not suspect, and he clung to them and fed them whenever he could. His only weakness had been Lily, and the Dark Lord had long lost interest in that vein.  
  
Now, for the first time, Severus allowed himself to indulge in weakness. He acknowledged what he could not before – that during his year as Headmaster he had changed, and it had become harder to suppress his convictions. He had felt petty, intimidating students when the future of the wizarding world hung in the balance. Taking on the responsibility for the students at Hogwarts, however unwillingly, had made him ashamed of himself. It was a feeling he had never properly known. Anger – the only safe emotion – he had often felt toward himself and anyone else he could blame for his pathetic life. Despair, agony, and regret had all haunted him, but he had held onto his pride and he had justified his actions. Though he had always regretted the decisions he made as a youth, they had seemed inevitable at the time. It was useless to wallow in self-pity, and for a spy it was a death wish, so he had simply ignored the feeling for years, with the help of aggressive Occlumency.  
  
Even as Severus sat coolly analyzing his lack of emotion, he felt something foreign and long-forgotten well up in his chest. Years of practice suppressing it failed him, and he closed his eyes and remembered long nights waiting outside Gryffindor tower. This time it was not crushed adolescent desires that made him bury his face in his pillow.  
  
He recalled the last image from his nightly dreams, Granger being hit by the curse, and recognized the pain in his chest as guilt. He had never cared about Hermione Granger, and she had almost died for him – may yet die for him. He had not cared about the students when he took on the responsibility of protecting them. He had been a cold, selfish, bitter man who cared for no one and whom no one cared for. He had been used by Dumbledore, hated by all others, and the only person he had ever loved had rejected him long ago.  
  
Lily.  
  
He had loved her and he had hated her, though not for long. It was too easy to forgive her, to believe she was innocent, especially when he knew all too well how seductive the promise of acceptance was. If he had been offered a place with the Golden Gryffindors, would he have taken it? Though his pride had always said no, Severus was not so sure. He could not hate her, but he could hate the one who had taken her from him.  
  
For years he had allowed himself to believe that it had ultimately been _his_ fault that Severus had finally agreed to join the Death Eaters – not his own fault, not Lily’s, but James Potter’s, the man who had taken the only good thing in his life away forever and added insult to injury by continuing to bully and vilify his victim at every opportunity. Furthermore, if Potter and his friends had not insisted on fighting an evil they were completely unprepared to meet, Lily might still be alive!  
  
Severus threw his covers off and sprang out of bed. He would not waste his morning reliving the past. He would not take any more time to examine the growing feeling of disgust with himself. He had every right to hate Potter, he always had. Potter had ruined his life from the very beginning, and Potter had won in the end like Potter always did. He would not be ashamed of himself when it was Potter who had made his life hell and then trapped him in it!  
  
Severus paced the floor a few times before throwing on his robe and shoes. For the first time since the final battle, he felt like himself again. He scowled at his reflection and slammed the door on his way out. He made his way to his office, which he supposed should really be McGonagall’s office since she was acting as Headmistress. With everything that had been happening, they had not bothered to make the change.  
  
Fawkes chirped cheerily when he entered and flew two circles around the room. Severus ignored him and began shuffling papers on the desk mindlessly. He noticed that his hands were shaking and immediately dropped the trembling paper that proclaimed the fact.  
  
Fawkes landed on Severus’ shoulder and chirped again, right in his ear. Severus swore loudly and shooed him away. With an indignant squawk, the bird returned to his perch and fixed Severus with a keen glare oddly reminiscent of its former master. Severus stood with his feet planted firmly in front the desk and both hands resting on it, staring at the floor. He felt like himself again, but detached and disoriented. His old self did not belong in Dumbledore’s office, did not read by Granger’s bedside, did not have dreams with blinding warm light, and did not feel overwhelming remorse as old excuses came crumbling down like a condemned house around his ears.  
  
It took a few moments for Severus to clear his mind and arrange his features into their usual mask of indifference. He pushed every nagging thought back into the recesses of his mind where they belonged and squared his shoulders. He would not waste any more time on such emotional drivel.  
  
Severus walked calmly out of the office and went to check on Granger before breakfast. She was sleeping, still the picture of health under the glow of the rose window. Severus stood in the doorway and enjoyed the warmth of the morning that streamed in through the glass.  
  
“You had better not let anyone catch you staring, Severus,” said Dumbledore’s portrait. Severus flicked his eyes up to meet those familiar blue ones. They were twinkling just as Dumbledore’s often had, stirring a wave of annoyance up in Severus' otherwise controlled mind.  
  
“Why is that, portrait?” he asked, refusing to call him by his name. As much as it liked to pretend, it was not Albus Dumbledore. Severus knew the man too well to be fooled, though the portrait did a decent impersonation.  
  
“Ah, so you have not heard the news. Or read it, I might add.”  
  
“What – news,” Severus ground out. He was in no mood to play games with a portrait.  
  
“Perhaps you should go down to breakfast and see for yourself,” said the portrait. “I daresay Minerva would be happy to fill you in. Alas, I’ve promised Phineas a game of chess, and I’m already late!”  
  
With that, he was gone from the frame, leaving Severus with a feeling of dread. Whatever the news was, he was certain he did not want to hear it from Minerva. However, with no other option, he slunk down to the Great Hall and took his customary seat. Only Minerva, Poppy, and Madam Hooch were there. The women all seemed to be engrossed in their food, and after a polite greeting fell silent.  
  
There was a folded newspaper beside his plate. Not one to put off the inevitable, Severus reached for it and flipped up the front page.  
  
His own face stared back at him, blinked in what must have been the bright flashes of multiple cameras, and smiled.  
  
Severus fought the urge to cringe. Instead, he forced himself to read the accompanying headline.  
  
 _SEVERUS SNAPE: IS THERE MORE TO THE STORY?  
  
Former spy and feared Potions master at Hogwarts, Professor Severus Snape, has caused quite a stir recently in the wizarding world. Only a few days ago, we gave readers an exclusive interview with Percy Weasley, former prefect and Head Boy at Hogwarts, who confirmed that the phoenix now belonging to Snape was in fact Dumbledore’s phoenix, and is called Fawkes.  
  
The appearance of the phoenix at Snape’s trial has been called the ultimate redemption of the man who killed Albus Dumbledore. Now that we know the facts about Dumbledore’s death, the question remains, who is Severus Snape? This mystery of a man is still holed away at Hogwarts castle, refusing all interviews.  
  
As was previously reported, Snape is tending to Hermione Granger, former Hogwarts student and friend of Harry Potter, who was hit by an unknown curse in battle. Though all others have given up hope for her recovery, Snape continues to search for an answer. He will not abandon the girl who took the curse meant for him.  
  
As of yesterday, numerous sources have now confirmed that Snape’s flight from the press after the trial was due to Miss Granger’s rapid deterioration in his absence. She seemed to be on the verge of death, but as soon as the professor returned to her side she recovered. By the next morning she was back to her original state. And what might that state be?  
  
We now know some particulars of the situation. Annia Flores, St. Mungo’s Healer, reported that Miss Granger’s condition is most peculiar.  
  
“That morning she looked very healthy,” said Flores. “You would only think she was asleep if you didn’t know better. It’s like nothing we’ve ever seen before. We couldn’t find anything wrong with her. It was only in the last hour of the trial that she became stone cold, nearly stopped breathing, and lost all her color.”  
  
Flores reports that she was sent to check on Miss Granger the next day and found her returned to her sleeping, angelic state, and that Snape insisted he did nothing but wait to see what would happen.  
  
While the Healers can make no sense of this recovery, we have come to our own explanation. What witch doesn’t remember the fairy tales of her childhood? Is there not a well-known tale of a lovely slumbering maiden? As we all know, the tales are based on true stories – true love stories – about witches and wizards, however much they were embellished later on.  
  
What is the connection between Miss Granger and Professor Snape? What made the young friend of Harry Potter sacrifice herself for a man she should have known only as a murdering, Death Eater spy? Why did she recover so quickly when he returned to her side? There must be more to this story.  
  
Do we have a modern-day Sleeping Beauty? Only time will tell. Since Professor Snape will give us no answers, we have decided to come up with our own. We will be publishing our own wild speculations in the form of fairy tales for your enjoyment, as we wait to hear from Professor Snape. Look for them daily on page 5, written by the talented Doe Wren!_  
  
Severus carefully folded the newspaper and put it down beside his plate again. He then proceeded to eat his breakfast while the three women stole curious glances at him. Finally, Madam Hooch spoke.  
  
“How about that article, Severus?” He could tell she was fighting the urge to laugh.  
  
“I see no reason to call what passes for reporting these days anything more than a waste of space,” he said.  
  
“They’re only trying to goad you into an interview,” said McGonagall dismissively. “I must confess I’m rather curious to see what they come up with that could be any more wildly speculative than usual. Please do hold out as long as possible.”  
  
“Better to know what’s being said,” chimed in Pomfrey kindly.  
  
Severus only glared at her and stood up.  
  
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said dryly, “I must go wake sleeping beauty.”  
  
“Severus Snape!”  
  
McGonagall sounded affronted, but then with uncharacteristic mirth said, “I had better _not_ catch you kissing a student!”  
  
Chuckling heartily, she continued, “I might have something to say about that!”  
  
Suddenly recalling that the particular fairy tale referenced included a prince and a kiss and well as a sleeping maiden, Severus turned away from the three laughing women and headed for the infirmary. Leave it to women to remember every detail of every blasted fairy tale in existence. Minerva had never laughed at him before, at least not to his face.  
  
Severus stopped once more in the doorway of Granger’s room, endeavoring to forget about the paper and Minerva's laughter. It would be a stretch to call the bushy-headed girl a beauty, but her features were simple and delicate, her skin was even and clear, her cheeks tinged with pink, and in general it seemed that being cursed agreed with her.  
  
Severus colored a bit when he realized that he was staring off into space, evaluating Hermione Granger’s beauty.


	12. The Worst Part

Hermione heard Snape approach. She was proud of the fact that she could now discern his nearly silent footfalls before he entered the room. If she ever got well, he would never be able to sneak up on her again. She could tell that he was standing in the doorway, but had not come in.  
  
She wondered what had happened at breakfast. She had been awake earlier when Dumbledore’s portrait was teasing Snape, and she rather proud of the fact that she had fooled him into thinking she was asleep. It had not been that hard. She had just thought about nothing and pulled every active thought to the back of her mind. She had tried to hide from him and it had worked.  
  
Now, however, she wanted to talk, and since he was being strangely silent, she began by stretching her thoughts across the space to where she imagined he stood.  
  
 _Good morning,_ she greeted him, and waited.  
  
“Is it, Miss Granger?” he said after a moment. Hermione wondered if he was surprised that she had spoken first. She heard him move into the room toward her.  
  
 _Dumbledore’s portrait said there was an article about me in the Prophet,_ thought Hermione. _Did you read it?_  
  
She wondered if he would rebuke her for being so bold, but Hermione was not scared of him. This was not her Potions professor; this was the man who read books to her and who let her listen to his thoughts. He had only done so once since the trial, but she was sure he would be back. The book was not finished.  
  
“I did,” he said, opening her eyes as he always did in the morning.  
  
 _What did it say?_ she prodded impatiently.  
  
“It was nothing but rubbish,” he answered, settling into a chair and folding his arms.  
  
 _I imagine it was,_ she replied, remembering some of the outlandish things that had been printed about herself and her friends over the years. Hermione waited to see if Snape would give in and tell her what it was about. She had found it was much easier to get what she wanted from him if she feigned disinterest. She was rewarded for her patience shortly.  
  
“It seems that a certain Doe Wren has decided that the best way to coerce me into an interview is with the threat of public embarrassment. You were also mentioned.”  
  
 _Doe Wren? Is that her real name?_ Hermione mused disinterestedly, but this time her ploy did not work. Snape stood up.  
  
“I’m sure your little friends will tell you all about it,” he said, and left. Hermione would have to wait for Ginny’s visit and hope she felt like talking. If she had been in another row with Harry it was all Hermione would hear about, in between long-suffering sighs and angry silences.  
  
Hermione had to wait until the next morning before Ginny came, and she welcomed the sight of the newspaper in her friend’s hands. Finally, she would know what was going on. Dumbledore’s portrait had been making vague references to the article since the day before, especially when Snape was in the room. It only served to make the professor leave more quickly each time, and Hermione had decided that if the portrait kept it up she would ask Snape to remove it from the room. It kept scaring away the only person she could talk to.  
  
“Hermione!” said Ginny, waving the paper in her hands excitedly. “Wait 'til you hear what _The Prophet_ printed now!”  
  
Ginny came and sat on the bed with a huge smile on her face. She smoothed the paper out and held it up for Hermione to see. Snape’s face was plastered across the front page, blinking in confusion and smiling at the camera.  
  
“There!” Ginny pointed with enough force to bend the paper. “That’s the smile I told you about! So creepy!”  
  
Hermione was not sure if creepy was the right word. Odd, perhaps, out-of-character even, but not creepy. But then, she supposed if she did not know him any better than Ginny did, she would think the sight of Snape smiling was creepy too. The only other time she had seen Snape smile was when he was about to say something particularly nasty, or when he had just caught students in some kind of mischief.  
  
Hermione focused on the headline over the picture, which told her nothing: “Severus Snape: Is There More to the Story?”  
  
After Ginny read the article aloud, Hermione understood why Snape had been avoiding her.  
  
“It gets better, Hermione,” said Ginny. “They printed the first fairy tale today!”  
  
There was a rustling of paper and she began to read.  
  
 _ **The Tale of Sleeping Beauty**  
  
Since Hermione Granger has become our own Sleeping Beauty, it is only fitting that we begin with that beloved tale. How would the story go in modern times? Perhaps something like this: once upon a time...  
  
There was a lovely young girl, clever and bold  
who was discovered a witch at eleven years old.  
She came to Hogwarts, but she did not know  
that an unimaginable evil was beginning to grow.  
She made friends with Potter, the fated boy child  
who would vanquish the Dark Lord and drive the girls wild.  
She was a brilliant girl, her professors agreed;  
even skeptical Snape would see her succeed.  
She grew up to become a most beautiful witch  
with a beautiful face to match her sharp wits.  
She did not go unnoticed by our watchful dark spy,  
the professor who taught her defense on the sly.  
It was during these lessons that she first surmised  
she now loved the man who told many lies.  
She believed he was good, did not doubt through it all,  
and because of this faith she could not let him fall.  
When the Dark Lord’s curse was aimed at her friend,  
she jumped in its path and prepared for the end.  
But the curse did not kill her; it put her asleep  
and with no cure to be found the professor would weep.  
He loved her now more than anyone could guess,  
and wondered if he might wake her with a kiss.  
  
Did he dare try?  
  
Perhaps our professor has already tried this cure, but we can only hope the answer is no. It is certainly inappropriate to the teacher-student relationship.  
  
Thank you, dear readers. Please send me your thoughts and I will post three of them with the next tale!  
  
–Doe Wren_  
  
If Hermione had the power, she would have been blushing furiously. How could she face Snape after this? He must be positively furious that helping her was making him a joke. Severus Snape was not a man to be laughed at.  
  
Ginny thought the idea that Snape was in love with Hermione was hilarious. She could not imagine Snape being in love with anybody. Hermione did not care what they said about her, but she wished they would leave Professor Snape alone. If he stopped talking to her and never read to her again, she might go crazy.  
  
It was then that Hermione had a startling thought. Snape was the best thing in her life at the moment. Her friends were off having adventures without her, her unofficial boyfriend had given up on waiting for her, she was stuck in her frozen body listening to lectures from a portrait, and the only bright spots in the long days were Snape’s visits. Even though he rarely said much, it was enough to know that he could hear her.  
  
Ginny stayed much longer than usual, and Hermione was grateful for her friend’s voice, even if she always said the same things about Harry and her family. It seemed things were settling into a new routine at the Weasley home, as they adjusted to life without Fred. Ginny talked about Quidditch and the coming school year. She was excited to have Harry and Ron back at school, repeating the year they missed with her. Hermione felt a pang of jealousy.  
  
Snape did not spend more time in the room than was strictly necessary that day and Hermione was tempted to just start thinking at him – but he could easily block her out so she did not see the point in trying to force him to listen to her. She was surprised to see him appear again after dinner, book in hand, closing the door carefully behind him. Hermione thought she heard him send a spell toward it as well. He glanced at Dumbledore’s presumably empty picture frame before settling into the chair.  
  
 _Thank you,_ said Hermione politely. _Nobody else has read anything interesting to me lately._  
  
Snape did not acknowledge her as he turned the pages of the book to find his place.  
  
Hermione waited patiently for him to begin, and was soon rewarded with what she had come to think of as his rich ‘voice’ reading more about the history and theory of Legilimency. Though it was all interesting, Hermione found herself paying more attention to the tone of his thoughts rather than the words he was reading. His presence in her mind was commanding, steady, and nuanced. If his thoughts were a color, what would they be? Dark, dark green, she thought, like walking in a forest under a full moon.  
  
Hermione focused all her attention on Snape’s thoughts, trying to decide on the exact shade for the representation, when suddenly she could see it! Her mind was filled with deep green and she imagined that she saw faint wisps of light rolling through it. She was conscious of Snape’s thoughts continuing, but she could no longer distinguish the words. She began to explore the image in her mind, chasing those elusive glimmers of light. She was conscious of the strangest floating, detached feeling now affecting her.  
  
The green space in her mind grew brighter, with a diffused glow that energized everything she saw. She tried to make sense of it, to find something to focus on, even though she knew it was a silly thought. This was in her mind; she wasn’t using her eyes at all. Suddenly, everything went dark and she heard a loud snap.  
  
She was conscious of what her eyes saw in front of her once more. Snape stood up abruptly and billowed his way over to the window. He must have snapped the book shut when he stood. Hermione began to feel nervous.  
  
Snape slowly turned around to look at her again, arms folded. Hermione was now very nervous. What exactly had she just done? Perhaps if she had been paying attention to the book, she would know.  
  
“Miss Granger,” he said presently. “What, exactly, do you think you are doing?”  
  
Hermione let the silence stretch out before she answered.  
  
 _I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention,_ she started, opting to play dumb if possible. _I really do appreciate what you’re doing –_  
  
“Granger, you are in no position to lie to me,” said Snape matter-of-factly. “You know I am not referring to simple... inattention.”  
  
 _Well, I AM sorry,_ thought Hermione crossly. She mentally sighed and thought, _I wasn’t paying attention, and then there was some kind of light...in my mind... and I was only trying to figure out what it was…_  
  
Hermione stopped, hoping that explanation would suffice. Snape swooped closer and stared down at her.  
  
“I see.”  
  
He was silent for quite a while, and Hermione knew she should be frightened of his anger, which was surely building. However, she could not help feeling that he was not as upset as he wanted her to believe.  
  
“What were you thinking of before you – saw this light?” he asked.  
  
 _Nothing,_ said Hermione. _I was just – listening to you. Then, I saw – a sort of space – and I thought I could almost see lights in it._  
  
Snape’s arm twitched a bit.  
  
“And then?”  
  
 _I – wanted to see what it was,_ said Hermione. _So I – followed it, I guess you could say. Then it all started to get lighter and lighter…and then you must have slammed the book shut and startled me._  
  
Hermione could not keep the hint of accusation out of her thoughts. Snape was silent once more.  
  
“You are absolutely sure you were thinking of _nothing_ before all of this, Granger? I do not believe that you were. Surely there was something on your mind…”  
  
Hermione was mortified, but he would know if she lied. It would have to be said.  
  
 _I guess sort of – pictured your voice – in my head._  
  
“Why would you do that?”  
  
 _Well, I thought that – if it had a color it might be dark green – and then – suddenly I could - see it._  
  
Hermione’s embarrassment filled the silence.  
  
 _I am sorry,_ she repeated, beginning to guess what she had done.  
  
“Miss Granger,” Snape paused, and folded his arms again. “I suggest that in the future you keep your thoughts on the text.”  
  
He studied her a moment longer before leaving. Hermione watched him go, relieved. He had said “in the future”. He was not angry.  
  
The next day, Ginny returned, newspaper in hand.  
  
“There’s another one, Hermione,” she said, climbing onto the bed and flipping eagerly to page five.  
  
 _Hello again, my faithful readers! As promised, here are some of your thoughts about Professor Snape and his sleeping beauty:  
  
“I think the professor should kiss the poor girl. If it doesn’t work, who would ever know? If it does work, she’ll be too grateful to care. But I must say that my daughter had Potions with Professor Snape and the stories I’ve heard! If he kissed me, I’m sure I’d think I was having a nightmare and wake up on the spot.”  
\- Sue Winkle  
  
“I am astonished that the Professor would even consider kissing Miss Granger. In fact, I am offended that it would even be suggested! Taking liberties with students is not humorous. To be safe, Miss Granger should be moved to St. Mungo’s. If the professor tends to her long enough, he may begin to lose perspective.”  
-Gertrude Horne  
  
“I wish I was Hermione Granger. She’s so lucky! Just imagine if she really were like Sleeping Beauty – how romantic! I wouldn’t mind if Professor Snape woke me up with a kiss.”  
-Elvira Moore  
  
And now for this week’s story…  
  
 **Beauty and the Spy**  
  
Once upon a time, there was a girl known for her intelligence, kindness and beauty. As she grew up, she became so lovely that people began to call her “Beauty” instead of her name, which was Hermione. Even though she wished to be known as more than a pretty face, she accepted her nickname and studied harder than ever in order to show her professors and friends that she was not only the most beautiful, but also the smartest young woman at Hogwarts.  
  
Beauty worked hard and impressed everyone with her knowledge. She spent hours and hours in the library, and she even helped her friends when they did not understand. However, there was one professor who would never see her as more than an empty-headed young girl. It was Severus Snape, the spy of the dungeons. He hated Beauty, because she was loved by everyone and he was reviled. Though he was brilliant and cunning, he was neither handsome nor kind. Those who were not frightened of him hated him because they believed he was truly evil and merciless.  
  
The only person who gave him any respect was Beauty. Beauty knew that the professor had a brilliant mind, and she wanted to learn from him. Even though he hated her, she did not believe he was evil. Beauty decided to be kind to the professor and see what happened.  
  
Beauty began to smile at the professor, something no one else ever dared to do. She asked thoughtful questions in class and thanked him for the answers. Beauty did many other small things as well. She made her friends stop calling him names. She was always polite and cheerful and she refused to be afraid of the professor or to hate him.  
  
Beauty’s kindness was not wasted. Beauty graduated and returned to the school over the holidays the next year to bring gifts to the students staying at the castle. On Christmas Eve she happened upon the professor in the hall. He seemed to be in a terrible mood, pacing frantically and scowling. When he saw Beauty he dropped to one knee and proposed marriage to the astonished girl.  
  
“Oh, no!” she cried.“I can’t marry you! I hardly know you!”  
  
The professor was not surprised, but he was broken-hearted. He vowed that he would change her mind. He would marry Beauty one day, when she truly loved him in return.  
  
And now, dear reader, after being separated by time and war, our professor must wake his Sleeping Beauty. What might grow between them now, in better circumstances? Send in your predictions to be posted in tomorrow’s column!  
  
Yours truly,  
  
\- Doe Wren_  
  
Hermione had cringed inwardly throughout the entire story. Hearing herself described as the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts was laughable. She could only imagine what kind of responses that statement would bring in. Pansy Parkinson had probably already bribed the writer to publish her scathing remarks. This story was much worse than the last one. The worst part was Beauty and the Beast had always been her favorite fairy tale.  
  
The image of Professor Snape proposing to anyone in a hallway, let alone Hermione, was amusing. Hermione decided she could laugh at the article. It was so over-the-top that it really posed little threat to her reputation. Not that she had ever had a good reputation in the newspapers with Rita Skeeter around. Snape was sure to be angry. He hated being mocked and she was certain that he was the type of person who despised the limelight. He preferred to skulk in the shadows and ridicule the people who were.  
  
Hermione thought that it was good for him to be forced into the public eye. He might finally understand what Harry had to deal with. He got publicity, both good and bad, whether he wanted it or not. Snape had always believed that Harry wanted his name plastered over the papers and whispered in the corridors.  
  
Snape did not read to her that night, and Hermione wondered when he would be back. He would come back, she was certain, and Hermione would be careful not to intrude on his mind again when he did. Getting a second chance was more than she had expected from him.  
  
Hermione was almost positive that she had been doing some sort of Legilimency that night. She did not understand how she had done it, but somehow in the process of imagining Snape’s voice as a tangible thing, a presence in her mind, she had actively connected with his mind in a more intimate way than he had ever allowed. Since they were already connected, it was surely not much of a feat, but Hermione was impressed with herself. She had followed the trail of his voice from her mind to his, or at least approached his in a way that startled him. It was interesting that a mind it did not appear to have specific boundaries. It had just been a slowly intensifying glow, with a source somewhere in front of her. It was intriguing.  
  
Hermione wondered if there would ever be a time when Professor Snape might consider teaching her Legilimency. It was a Dark Art, she reminded herself, but a Dark Art that he was using for good. Without Snape’s Legilimency she would be utterly alone, abandoned, and left in some dark corner of St. Mungo’s until she faded away completely.  
  
They were redeeming it, by using it for good, and Hermione decided that she had no qualms about wanting to “read minds” as Ron had once put it. She was sorry that she could not explore the connection with Snape without making him angry. It was reasonable, she supposed, that he would be threatened. He was already making himself uncomfortable just to help her, and she had intruded on his mind without warning. It was surprising that he had not reacted more strongly.


	13. The Decision

Severus stormed into the Great Hall wearing a scowl. Minerva sat alone, primly sipping her tea and reading the paper. It was not long before she acknowledged his arrival.  
  
“And here I thought you weren’t coming,” she remarked cheerily as he seated himself. “Paper?”  
  
Severus ignored the paper she held out to him, so she folded it and put it down on the table between them.  
  
“I’ll leave it for you to enjoy privately,” she said. “Severus, we have things to discuss.”  
  
“You want the office,” Snape said immediately. “There is nothing to discuss. The most difficult part will be getting the bird to move out.”  
  
Minerva sighed.  
  
“I’m sure Fawkes won’t be a problem, even if you were to make him live in the dungeons. Severus, the office is the least of my worries. The truth is that you are still Headmaster of Hogwarts, whatever the Ministry might have to say on the subject. I am acting as Headmistress now, but you have neither given up nor been removed from your position. So, we need to discuss what you want to do.”  
  
When Severus did not reply immediately, she continued.  
  
“Now that your name’s been cleared you have options,” she said. “You have found favor with the public. You have Dumbledore’s phoenix, you are tirelessly working to save a student, and you are a war hero. It would be foolish to resign now, when the board is so eager to have you stay. It would give you time to pursue your own work, and it would give you some distance from the students. After all that’s happened, it may be best if you are not in the classroom with them, for their sakes as well as for your own. Nobody will know how to act. Furthermore, I must confess that I don’t want the responsibility of the school. I’m old, Severus, and I’m comfortable teaching. I don’t know what I would do without the classroom, and I honestly doubt that anyone else could teach Transfiguration to my standards.”  
  
Severus leaned back and folded his arms.  
  
“Have you actually managed to talk yourself out of the most prestigious position in education in the country?” he asked.  
  
She folded her arms as well and stared back at him.  
  
“It seems I have. Severus, it would be a burden for me and I don’t need the prestige. Any time last year, I would have gladly taken the position, but the more I think about it, the more certain I become that I would do it only out of duty.”  
  
“And so the duty is mine.”  
  
She made an impatient gesture with her hand.  
  
“If you want it, Severus.”  
  
She waited, eyebrows raised in anticipation, but Severus did not yet know how to reply.  
  
“You want me as Headmaster.”  
  
She cleared her throat. “I do. I think you would – do well, and that perhaps your Slytherin background will help with the tensions that are sure to be present this year.”  
  
Now it was Severus’ turn to raise his eyebrows.  
  
“A sentiment too optimistic for even you to believe,” he remarked with a smirk. “Most of the school will have had me in class, and no amount of publicity is likely to change their opinions of me.”  
  
Minerva smiled slightly.  
  
“You may be surprised,” she said, pushing her chair back to stand. “Now, may I take that as an acceptance of the responsibilities of Headmaster for the coming year?”  
  
Severus hesitated.  
  
“You may,” he said finally.  
  
She looked quite relieved.  
  
“Good,” she said. “We have more to discuss, but let’s continue after you check on Miss Granger. You have a meeting with the Minister tomorrow at noon, and the board will need official notification of your decision before the end of the week.”  
  
Severus sat at the table and pondered his fate as McGonagall left with a slight bounce in her step. Anything would be better than the classroom and he rather liked the idea of returning as Headmaster with the public’s support. Even more, he liked the idea of running the school without the Dark Lord and his minions watching his every move. It had been hell then, but he had still been glad to escape the classroom. He might never teach Potions again, a most welcome realization.  
  
The abysmal state of Defense education was going to change. Severus would monitor the class closely, as well as Potions. Slughorn was competent, but he was so eager to entertain and impress that he was likely to skim over the less attractive elements of Advanced Potion Making. Severus remembered his own days in Slughorn’s class too well.  
  
Severus stopped himself before he made too many plans. Now was not the time. He went to check on Granger.  
  
Dumbledore's portrait was thankfully empty again. Severus stood beside Granger’s bed and stared at her closed eyes. His hand paused on its way to open them. A newspaper lay beside her, slightly crumpled from being read and re-folded. So the Weasley girl had come early today. Severus picked up the paper and opened it.  
  
 _“It is embarrassing that this paper would stoop so low as to insinuate that Professor Snape would propose marriage to his student. A man of his intelligence and accomplishments would never fall in love with a teenage witch, no matter how much time she might spend in the library!”  
-Mary Mims  
  
“Hermione Granger is not as smart as she thinks she is and she’s no beauty. Just ask anyone in my year. But you did get one thing right – she would never marry Snape. She’s practically a Weasley already.”  
-Annonymous Hogwarts student  
  
“If Hermione ‘Beauty’ Granger won’t have him, let the rest of us have a chance!”  
-Glenda Wartwich  
  
 **Hermione and the Poison Apple**  
  
Once upon a time, there was a young girl who lived with her Muggle parents for eleven years, never knowing that she was actually a witch. Hermione’s magic was strong and she was very clever. She learned advanced magic quickly at Hogwarts, causing all of her professors to take notice. Even Professor Snape was impressed, and he was almost never impressed.  
  
Hermione may have discovered that she was a witch at eleven years old, but there was another secret about her identity that she had yet to learn. Hermione was adopted. She had been found on the doorstep one morning with a very strange note indeed. It had read:“Dear sister, I must leave the little one with you for a few days to look for Daniel. He's disappeared again. Take care of her, and give her a proper name. I expect I will be back by Sunday.”  
  
Well, nobody was back by Sunday, or any day after that, and the poor Muggle woman who found Hermione was nobody's sister. That nobody was Lark Morin, a powerful witch gone mad from a potions mishap. She had escaped her family’s wards and gone on many delusional adventures and no one had heard from her in years.  
  
It was not until Hermione’s seventh year at Hogwarts that Lark decided that she wanted to see her daughter. She returned to the house where she had left the child and watched her for weeks. Lark saw that Hermione was a brilliant and magically powerful witch, perhaps even more powerful and more beautiful than Lark herself.  
  
Lark became jealous of Hermione and began to hate her more than anything. She went away and plotted, recalling the ancient potions and spells that had once been so familiar to her.  
  
One day at Hogwarts, during Potions class, Professor Snape’s instruction was interrupted by a woman screeching his name from the corridor.  
  
It was Lark. She had managed to enter the castle and found her way to the dungeons to visit her former Potions apprentice.  
  
The professor dismissed class immediately, shocked to see Lark alive and perhaps more surprisingly, at Hogwarts. Lark insisted on having lunch with him.  
  
Now it just so happened that even in her insanity, Lark was still very clever, and had convinced a house-elf only a half hour earlier to make sure a very special apple appeared on Hermione’s lunch plate. She knew from her weeks of observation that Hermione loved apples. Lark watched from her seat next to the professor as Hermione picked up the apple and took a single bite.  
  
Immediately, Hermione fell to the ground. Professor Snape was the first of the professors to reach her and so he did not notice Lark slip out quietly.  
  
The professor soon realized that the apple Hermione still clutched in her hand was poisoned, but he would toil for many months without discovering a cure. He suspected Lark was the culprit, but the mad witch was found dead a week later from another one of her own concoctions.  
  
In addition to being very clever, Lark Morin also had a terrible sense of humor. She had worked into her poison apple a curse that would not be lifted unless Professor Snape kissed Hermione. Lark had once been in love with Severus Snape and had told him to kiss her, but he had only replied ‘Why? Have you poisoned your lips?’  
  
Lark thought she had made a great joke, but there was something Lark did not know. Over the years the professor had become more than impressed with Hermione; he had come to love her. Lark never got her kiss, but will Hermione?_  
  
Severus crumpled the paper up with an exasperated snort and tossed it back on the bed. Sooner or later they would run out of fairy tales to bastardize, and that day could not come soon enough. The stories were far too preposterous to truly threaten his reputation. Any witch or wizard who formed an opinion of him based on such rubbish was not someone he would wish to have as a supporter in the first place.  
  
Severus opened Granger’s eyes and heard footsteps approach the room. They stopped short of the doorway, but he knew who it was.  
  
“Enter, Miss Weasley,” he said. “I am on my way out.”  
  
Dumbledore’s portrait had returned and Severus was not in the mood to chat this morning. Severus swept past the silent Weasley girl and into the hall. His sudden exit most certainly did not have anything to do with the fact that he had suddenly become aware of Granger’s unmoving lips, which were as pink, thin, and as delicate as ever.  
  
 _Fine then, leave without saying hello!_  
  
Severus stopped just short of the doorway. It was the second time Granger had invaded his thoughts from across the room, but the first time she had done so completely on her own. He exited and stood outside of the door, leaning against the wall. Inside, he could hear Ginny Weasley chatting brightly about something. He glanced at the cracked door beside him and shut his eyes in concentration.  
  
“I reminded Ron that it was her birthday two days ago and he still forgot. Honestly, my brother is an idiot. I don’t know what you ever saw in him, Hermione.”  
  
Weasley sighed, then laughed.  
  
“I shouldn’t say that, but sometimes Ron really doesn’t get it.”  
  
 _Actually, Ginny, I think you should say it more often, next time to his face and make sure to punch him for me._  
  
“Harry’s been great lately. I can’t believe how moody _I’ve_ been!”  
  
 _I can._  
  
“I feel bad about it, but he just leaves me alone and doesn’t say a word. I think I’ve trained him well.”  
  
 _How lovely for you. Perhaps you could have him punch Ron for me. Somebody needs to do it._  
  
“Mum keeps hinting about us getting married. She's relentless and so obvious about it! She keeps saying how she would just love to have Harry in the family, and that he practically lives at the Burrow anyway. But just because she got married right out of school doesn't mean I want to!”  
  
 _Yes, it must be terrible to think that you might marry Harry Potter and live happily ever after. It’s only been your dream since you were ten._  
  
“Well, let me read this story to you. It’s so long today!”  
  
Severus opened his eyes and stepped away from the door. He was certain that she had not noticed him listening to her thoughts, but he did not want to risk getting caught eavesdropping by lingering. Their connection must be stronger than he had thought, to be able to hear her at such a distance with no eye contact. Perhaps more surprising was the sarcasm in her thoughts, something he had not heard before. It seemed that Hermione would not be a Weasley after all. The next time he saw Ron Weasley in her room, he would take great pleasure in removing him.  
  
Severus left the girls and went to look for Minerva, who was not in her office. He met her in the corridor, her face flushed and her heels clicking sharply as she strode toward him.  
  
“Reporters! If you had not just agreed to be Headmaster, I would order you to give an interview tomorrow, Severus. You can deal with the next one!”  
  
“You make the mistake of speaking to them at all,” said Severus. “It only encourages them.”  
  
“I might just hex the next one upon sight,” she mused. “It would be satisfying.”  
  
Severus did not reply. He was still not used to making conversation with Minerva. She had opened the door to her office and he followed her inside to begin their meeting.  
  
An hour later, Severus left in a terrible mood. He had to meet with the Minister tomorrow. It was sure to be a long, drawn out affair. They would go to lunch. There would be reporters everywhere. Severus was determined not to say a word to any of them.  
  
He went to Granger’s room. She was alone now, the newspaper still crumpled on the bed. He picked it up and stood with his arms crossed.  
  
“Good afternoon, Granger.”  
  
 _Hello,_ she thought, a bit sullenly it seemed.  
  
“I trust you enjoyed today’s rubbish,” he said, waving the paper in his hand, and noting the rush of embarrassment that flooded her thoughts.  
  
 _Not at all,_ she thought. _Did you?_  
  
“What makes you think I would read such drivel?”  
  
There was a brief pause in which he sensed she would have been smirking at him if her face had been able to cooperate.  
  
 _I heard the pages crinkle when you read it this morning._  
  
Severus scowled and dropped the paper into the wastebasket.  
  
“I believe Mr. Weasley may be scheduled for a visit tomorrow,” he said. “Perhaps he will find a way to entertain you that does not involve 'The Daily Poppycock'.”  
  
 _Whatever he does, he had better not read anything,_ said Hermione. _It’s truly torture to hear him!_  
  
“No, Miss Granger, it is not,” admonished Severus in response to her dramatic tone. “Painful though it may be.”  
  
Another pause followed as her mood sobered.  
  
 _I know what torture is._  
  
Severus heard the echo of tortured screams in her thoughts and regretted his rebuke immediately. He pulled out his book.  
  
 _Oh, I was hoping you would,_ thought Hermione. _Thank you._


	14. The Connection

Hermione loved listening to Snape read and she was not ashamed to admit it. His thoughts had a lovely deep, steady tone, with none of the abrupt sharpness of his speaking voice. She wondered if his normal reading voice was just as wonderful.  
  
When Snape finished the chapter he closed the book quietly and held it in both hands. He relaxed, leaning back in the chair, and seemed to be lost in his thoughts – thoughts Hermione did not dare try to discover, though the knowledge that she may have the ability tempted her.  
  
Hermione had a good view of Snape from her bed, though he was blurry to her unfocused eyes. He shifted and slouched a bit in the chair so that he could lean his head back.  
  
He closed his eyes with his nose pointed comically in up the air. He looked so un-Snape-like, with his elbows hanging off the chair's armrests and his legs stretched out in front of him. Would he fall asleep that way? He might be asleep already. Hermione had never seen Professor Snape look so unguarded.  
  
Hermione was beginning to suspect that Snape no longer viewed her as a student. If he expected to have her back in the classroom, he would never act as he had lately. Perhaps he did not think Hermione would ever to return to school. The only person who was trying to help her did not think he would succeed.  
  
 _Is your mind never still, Granger?_  
  
Hermione’s thoughts were shocked into silence. How had she not noticed that he was listening? What had he heard?  
  
 _Are you listening to my thoughts right now?!_ Hermione was indignant.  
  
 _No, Granger. I’m attempting to clear my own mind, but it is impossible with your thoughts buzzing about like a swarm of bees.  
  
Bees!  
  
Exactly,_ he thought impatiently. _Now, clear your mind!  
  
Why would my thoughts bother you if you weren’t listening to them?_  
  
Snape let out an audible sigh.  
  
 _They shouldn’t. So... why don’t you try to keep them to yourself?_  
  
Hermione tried, if only because she did not want to provoke him into leaving. She marveled at the ease and informality of their mind-to-mind conversation. Who was this man and what had he done with Professor Snape?  
  
 _Granger!_  
  
 _Sorry!_  
  
Hermione tried to stop thinking about Snape, or anything else. The problem was that stray thoughts kept bobbing back up to the surface when she least expected it. She began to wonder if she would ever become a good Legilimens.  
  
 _Granger, you are hopeless._  
  
Hermione wondered if his statement was an answer to her musings or merely a coincidence.  
  
 _I have a lot on my mind,_ she replied defensively.  
  
 _Then you would benefit greatly from learning to clear it,_ retorted Snape.  
  
 _Now,_ he commanded, his thoughts assuming his familiar teaching tone, _put every thought aside. Gather them, examine each one briefly and discard it – put them behind a door – and lock it._  
  
Hermione fought the urge to inform him that she preferred the sea method for clearing the mind. She then pushed away the question that had popped into her head about disguising the mind’s doors from a Legilimens. She took all of her Snape-wonderings and hid them behind closed doors – for now.  
  
Snape’s thoughts were gone, and she could no longer sense him at all. Hermione pushed that last thought aside as well, and her mind was clear.  
  
It was impossible to know how long they stayed that way. Hermione broke the spell when she began to wonder once more if he had fallen asleep.  
  
 _Professor?_  
  
There was a long pause, then Hermione felt him stir.  
  
 _What, Granger?_  
  
 _Sorry,_ she thought.  
  
He did not reply.  
  
 _I just thought you would be sorry tomorrow if you slept that way for long,_ she continued.  
  
He still did not reply. Hermione was annoyed but left him alone.  
  
 _Granger,_ he finally thought, _where are your parents?_  
  
Hermione was surprised he had not asked about them sooner. She had not thought about her parents lately, having long conquered her homesickness.  
  
 _They’re... in Australia,_ she admitted, wondering if he would be angry that she had not said anything before.  
  
 _You do not wish to see them,_ he observed.  
  
 _I do not wish – them – to see me,_ she corrected him.  
  
He seemed to accept this answer and Hermione was relieved until he spoke again.  
  
 _How is it that no owl is able to find them?_  
  
Hermione groaned inwardly, despite knowing he would hear it.  
  
 _They don’t go by their real names anymore. They... don’t even know their real names anymore.  
  
And why is that?_  
  
Hermione had no choice but to explain what she had done.  
  
 _I modified their memories to protect them. They don’t know they have a daughter._  
  
Though Hermione tried to remain emotionally detached from the statement, she was not sure that she succeeded.  
  
 _I know it could be lifted,_ she thought, _but I want to do it myself. I don’t want them to know that their only daughter is as good as dead to them. If they knew that I was like this, they would probably insist on taking me to a Muggle hospital. They try to accept magic, but they don’t trust it. They’re dentists._  
  
Hermione stopped herself, realizing who she was talking to.  
  
 _Please... don’t try to find them._  
  
Hermione searched for his reaction in the following pause, but his mind was as guarded as his manner always was when speaking.  
  
 _If it is your wish, I will tell no one._  
  
 _Thank you,_ she thought, relieved.  
  
Hermione loved her parents, but she did not want them to interfere with Snape's work. At the moment, they were happy and blissfully ignorant of the magical world in their new home. Hermione had often wondered how much closer she would have felt to them if she were not a witch. They had never even seen her wonderful, magical school and had given her incredulous looks when she told them about ghosts and moving staircases and house-elves, as if they did not think they should believe everything she said. If they had known all the things she had not told them over the years they would have snapped her wand in half and sent her to a Muggle school without a second thought.  
  
 _Professor –_ she began.  
  
 _What now, Granger?_  
  
 _Do you – have you any more theories about the curse?_  
  
He had told her as little as possible about her condition and his theories so far, and Hermione had assumed it would be better not to know, but as the weeks passed without answers Hermione’s curiosity had won out.  
  
 _No,_ he said. _Other than its similarity to the soul starvation curse, your affliction remains a mystery. I have not discovered any means of reversal as of yet._  
  
If there was one person who would not sugarcoat the truth, it was Snape. Hermione was thankful for it.  
  
 _And... if there is no way to reverse it?_  
  
 _Theoretically, all curses may be reversed, Miss Granger, with a proper understanding of their creation, enough time, and the ability to control the means of reversal._  
  
Hermione thought about that answer.  
  
 _What do you mean by 'the ability to control the means of reversal'?_  
  
 _I mean,_ he thought slowly, _that sometimes what is required to reverse a curse is impossible to control._  
  
 _So, there are some irreversible curses after all,_ Hermione concluded.  
  
 _No,_ Snape insisted. _Only a lack of understanding, time, or control keeps a curse from being reversed._  
  
Hermione did not reply that she felt he was splitting hairs. She dismally pondered the fact that they had none of the required factors, expect perhaps time.  
  
 _For example,_ Snape continued, _curses linked to ancient magic, such as blood magic, must be reversed with blood magic. The problem is that blood magic is unpredictable and requires time to perfect through trial and error. Typically, a cursed person does not have that much time._  
  
 _Well, now I feel much better,_ thought Hermione sarcastically. _There’s definitely an answer we might never find!_  
  
 _Do not become hysterical!_ Snape thought. _If it is something like soul starvation, which seems increasingly likely, there is no shortage of time. That in itself is a great advantage. Also, the curse does not involve anything so difficult to control as blood magic; remember that it was cast by a wand. Finally, you have the advantage of being able to communicate with me, something that any other victim of the curse would not have._  
  
Snape stood up suddenly and smoothed his robes before picking up Hermione’s charts. There was a knock at the door.  
  
“You may enter,” he said, and the door swung open to reveal Professor McGonagall.  
  
“There is another reporter here, Severus. I believe it’s your turn.”  
  
“Tell them I’m out of the country.”  
  
“You know very well that they’re watching the gates and they know you can't Apparate out of the grounds.”  
  
Snape replaced the clipboard noisily and said, “I must inform you, Miss Granger that I am obligated to meet with the Minister tomorrow. Madam Pomfrey will attend you while I am gone.”  
  
He left, and Hermione realized how empty the room was without his presence. Tomorrow would be horribly boring. Ginny was not coming; she had a date with Harry. Hermione could not be angry at her because it was their first real date in weeks and she knew how much Ginny was looking forward to it. Harry was going to show her Muggle London, let her ride the underground and go to Muggle shops. Her father was jealous, of course. Hermione imagined that Harry would be glad to get away from the magical world where everybody knew his face. She just hoped they would be careful – there were still Death Eaters out there in hiding.  
  
Dumbledore’s portrait lectured her on Defense, reminding Hermione of the DA. She missed her friends – she missed her life! Hermione might have cried herself to sleep that night, if she had been able.  
  
The next morning dawned bleak and rainy, matching Hermione’s mood. She wondered if Snape was already gone and realized that he had never said why he had to meet with the Minister. She hoped it was nothing bad. At that very moment, he walked into the room.  
  
“Miss Granger,” he said by way of greeting.  
  
 _Good morning,_ she replied, as usual. _You have not left yet._  
  
“Ah, but we are observant this morning,” he said.  
  
 _Would you give Madam Pomfrey something decent to read for me?_  
  
“I have already taken care of it,” he said.  
  
 _Oh… good…_  
  
Hermione wanted to say more, but nothing appropriate came to mind. He flipped up her chart and made the same marks he always did.  
  
 _Why are you meeting with the Minister?_  
  
“School business,” he replied. Hermione imagined that she rolled her eyes.  
  
 _Yes, I gathered as much! I hope nothing is the matter. Will Hogwarts open on schedule?_  
  
“Yes, of course,” he said. “Hogwarts will be open as usual in the fall. The meeting today will be pointless, unnecessarily long and tediously polite.”  
  
Hermione knew she would not get any more out of him, as she could sense his mind was almost completely closed off to her. If it was important, somebody would tell her later.  
  
Madam Pomfrey did not come in until the afternoon. She held a rather large book in her hands, which she set on the edge of the bed as she bustled about the room and flipped through the pages of Hermione’s chart.  
  
Finally, she came over and smoothed Hermione’s hair with a motherly smile.  
  
“Hermione, dear, I can’t imagine why Severus wants me to read this book to you, but I suppose he has his reasons. First, though, let’s see what the paper has to say. I know Ginny has been reading them to you. Just don’t tell Severus. I don’t think he would approve!”  
  
She settled herself into the chair and pulled the paper from inside the cover of the book, which she set aside. She read to herself first, chuckling now and then, before she cleared her throat and began to read aloud.  
  
 _“I am not crazy, nor am I dead. Furthermore, I have never had a child, and if I did I would certainly not poison her! What a horrid story! Please don’t send me hate mail!”  
-Lark Morin  
  
“This story is ridiculous. Hermione Granger is a Muggle-born witch, as everyone knows, and there is nothing wrong with that! We just fought a war over this prejudice, so stop erasing her Muggle background! She doesn't need a secret magical parent to be a talented witch.”  
-Hailey Corner  
  
“How could an apple be anyone’s favorite fruit? Boring! Professor Snape needs a little more spice in his life. OWL ME!!”  
-Maureen Stars  
  
 **Hermione’s Hair**  
  
There was once a beautiful young witch named Hermione, with hair that was as bewitching as her lovely face. When she was young it grew too long and heavy for her poor head to carry around, and no matter how often her Muggle parents cut it, it would grow right back the next day. One day, when she was only seven years old, a witch saw her playing and took pity on her. She cast a spell that made her hair curl up to a manageable length and lightened its weight with a charm that made it rest like an unruly cloud on her shoulders.  
  
When Hermione told her parents what happened they laughed and said she must be imagining things, though they were puzzled about the new state of her hair. Hermione grew up hating the witch who had ruined her beautiful hair, because she could not figure out how to break the spell.  
  
Hermione finished school and was engaged to be married. The day before her wedding, she happened upon a picture of herself before the witch changed her hair and she began to cry, for her fiancé had often remarked that he would be marrying the most beautiful woman in the country, if not for her terrible hair.  
  
“If I could reverse the spell on my hair just for my wedding day, I would be content,” thought Hermione, and even though she knew it would not work, she tried every hair potion available. Just as she was about to give up, she had an idea.  
  
Hermione rushed to Hogwarts in search of Professor Snape. If anyone could make a potion that would work, it was him. But when she got there, he was nowhere to be found. Defeated, she sat in front of his door, weeping.  
  
Suddenly, a house-elf appeared with a loud crack.  
  
“Why is the lady crying?” he asked, alarmed, for he knew it was not a student that was sitting outside the Potions Master’s chambers.  
  
“I cannot find Professor Snape,” said Hermione sadly. “I need to see him so I can get married tomorrow.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Miss,” said the elf, and popped away. In seconds, he was back, holding a protesting Professor Snape by the arm.  
  
“Miss Granger!” he exclaimed when he saw the woman on the floor.“Why on earth should you need to see me before you get married?”  
  
“Oh, please, help me sir!” said Hermione.“I need you to make a potion for my wedding day, it would be the best present anyone could give me.”  
  
“What can I give you that you cannot get somewhere else?” he asked.  
  
Hermione told him about the witch who had ruined her hair, and how she only wanted to feel truly beautiful for just one day so that her husband would not be disgusted by her hair on her wedding day.  
  
This angered the professor, for he had always liked Hermione, and he knew that bad hair could not always be helped.  
  
“Your fiancé is a dunderhead,” he said.“Even so, I will help you if I can, but you must stay tonight and help me brew the potion.”  
  
Hermione agreed and they went to work immediately. They worked all night on the potion, but could not break the stubborn spell that the witch had put on Hermione’s hair. Professor Snape could not understand it, but he was secretly glad that he got to spend more time with Hermione. He was trying to convince her that she should not marry someone who did not like her hair.  
  
“I wonder, Miss Granger,” he said at last, “if you would consider postponing your ceremony. I think we may be very close to discovering the answer.”  
  
Hermione considered this and it sounded like a good idea. She had not wanted to have the wedding so soon and she was angry with her fiancé for laughing at her hair all the time. Perhaps it would teach him a lesson. She agreed.  
  
“I will make the announcement and be back tomorrow,” she said.  
  
They did not find the answer the next day, or the next, and after many weeks it was again the day before Hermione’s wedding. However, Hermione was now in love with Professor Snape and was afraid to tell him. He probably thought she was just a silly, vain girl who would not get married without perfect hair.  
  
She was quite surprised when, as they left the lab he turned to her and said, “Miss Granger, I do not think you should marry your fiancé tomorrow.”  
  
“Oh, Professor, I can’t put it off again! It’s not that I think you would never succeed, but I just feel so silly and vain already. Thank you for trying to help me.”  
  
“No, Hermione,” he said,“I mean that you should marry me instead. I have loved you since the night I found you crying on the floor.”  
  
It was not long before Hermione regained her senses and answered him with a kiss, and with that her hair was transformed back to its original state and flowed down her back until the heavy silken locks reached the floor.  
  
The reason for this was that the witch who had cast the spells on her hair had wanted them to last, so she had said, “Out of love ruined, in love restored”, invoking ancient magic and using her compassion for the young girl to seal the spell, for she had thought it cruel to deny a girl the fullness of her beauty when she was in love. And so, Hermione was saved from marrying a man she did not truly love, and instead she married Professor Snape and lived happily ever after._  
  
“Well, now, I liked that one much better than the last,” said Madam Pomfrey when she had finished. “How about you, dear?”  
  
Only silence answered her, but she did not seem to be bothered by it.  
  
“ _I_ liked it,” said Dumbledore’s portrait at last.  
  
Madam Pomfrey now had the book in her hands, which had a red dusty cover that she wiped with her sleeve before opening.  
  
“ _Scaklager’s Record of Unusual Curses and Their Unlikely Reversals,” she read, “Finding Amusement in Research. Chapter One: Laughter Cures All. In this chapter we will explore various incidents in which laughter has deflected or reversed a curse. The crucial point to remember is that it must happen at exactly the right moment and it must be genuine. The circumstances in which there is laughter when a curse is performed are hard to imagine. True laughter is innocent. It is pure mirth; in essence, spontaneous good energy that may counteract all or part of a curse. It is not a good strategy to tell jokes while being cursed, and it is impossible to imitate true laughter.”_  
  
Hermione smiled to herself as Madam Pomfrey read. She wondered if Snape had read this book himself, because it was hard imagine him reading anything so lighthearted. Madam Pomfrey read a few anecdotes about laughter saving people in impossible circumstances. In one, the wizard performing the curse had a terrible stutter and had tripped over a cat and fallen down the stairs, causing his victim to burst into laughter as the curse was performed. He walked away unscathed while the caster was stuck with his foot in the stairs and his nose melted off.  
  
 _I get it,_ Hermione thought. _This is one means of reversal that we can’t control. Perhaps all I need to do it get Snape to laugh – in which case, I will be cursed forever._  
  
Madam Pomfrey read on, but Hermione soon grew tired of listening to her kindly, but rather boring voice. They were on _Chapter Three: Animal Interventions_ , when Madam Pomfrey gasped and dropped the book. Hermione immediately realized that her body had gone cold again – stone cold.  
  
 _It will be fine,_ she told herself.  
  
Madam Pomfrey scribbled on her chart, and hurried out of the room. Hermione was relieved that there were no panicked Healers around this time. Snape would come soon and would figure out what was wrong with her. She must pay attention to see if anything was different this time.  
  
After what seemed like an hour, Madam Pomfrey returned.  
  
“Hermione, I have sent for Severus. I am sure he will be here in no time.”  
  
She hovered over Hermione, wringing her hands absently.  
  
“What to do . . . what to do . . . I know!” she said with forced brightness. “I’ll tell you some of my own stories. Heaven knows I’ve seen more than my share of ridiculous injuries over the years.”  
  
She felt Hermione’s forehead again and looked worried before she sat down.  
  
“Well, now, let’s see . . . I once had a first year who managed to change his feet into melons and then had nightmares for two years afterward about them bursting.”  
  
Hermione’s chest had stopped moving.  
  
“Let’s see, let’s see,” muttered Pomfrey. “Oh! Once, Harry’s father came in with a stuck-on smile, courtesy of Lily Evans. That must have been in their fifth year. James and Sirius were forever in the infirmary, though most of their injuries were self-inflicted. They liked to experiment on one another. It's the poor dears that get bullied that I feel for. Most of them would never admit it either. Severus was one of those. He would never say how he got hurt and I don’t think he came to me as much as he should have, because he only came when he was dragged in by a Professor.”  
  
Hermione wondered who or what Madam Pomfrey had sent for Severus. An owl? A house-elf? Had it gotten lost?  
  
“I bet you didn’t know that Lily and Severus were friends once upon a time. I think I can trust you to keep that secret. They both started out as shy little bookworms from what I can tell, and she used to be up here whenever he was, sitting in a chair with a book, a skinny little thing with a mop of red hair. I’ve always wondered what might have happened if she hadn’t become so popular.”  
  
Hermione knew that normally she would be interested in what Madam Pomfrey was telling her, but she did not have the energy to care at the moment. Snape and Harry’s mother were friends?  
  
 _That could explain a lot,_ she mused.  
  
“Oh dear, where could Severus be? I think I’ll send Truno. He can be quite insistent.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey jumped out of the chair and disappeared from the room once more, to summon a house-elf, Hermione supposed. She returned minutes later.  
  
“Well, that should do it. I’ve told Truno not to return unless Professor Snape is with him.”  
  
The image from the article of Snape arriving on the arm of a house-elf returned to Hermione and she wanted to laugh. Hermione’s chest lifted again.  
  
“That’s good, dear,” she said, patting her arm.“Keep breathing. Just a little while longer and Severus will be here. Don’t you worry!”  
  
Whenever Madam Pomfrey said Snape’s first name, Hermione imagined him as an eleven-year-old boy at Hogwarts. He must have been a skinny, awkward thing – Harry and Ron had been through some rough stages themselves.  
  
Severus. His name was so – severe. Did it fit him, or had he come to fit it? What had he been like as a child? Hermione remembered him lying back in the chair the day before, his usual composure forgotten.  
  
Hermione became aware that Madam Pomfrey was still talking, mostly to herself.  
  
“…some kind of connection between you two. It can’t be a coincidence that as soon as he leaves you become worse. Albus, if you were not a portrait I would bet you twenty Galleons that as soon as Severus returns she improves. Oh, what if the papers hear about this?! This curse is strange indeed! I’ve never heard of anything like it. I wonder – perhaps he should stay away? Perhaps she needs to get worse in order to improve… just like he was on death’s door and then was up walking around the next day…”  
  
Hermione began to get annoyed with Madam Pomfrey. What did she know about Dark curses? Snape could not leave! Surely he would be here soon and would tell Madam Pomfrey what a ridiculous idea it was.  
  
There was a loud crack and for a moment Hermione thought that Snape had Apparated directly into her room, and argued with her tired mind that it was impossible. Then she realized that it was only the door being thrown open as he rushed in. A surprisingly large house-elf was behind him, as well as Professor McGonagall.  
  
“Sir! What else shall I do?”  
  
The house-elf had a deep, raspy voice – at least compared to other house-elves.  
  
“Nothing, nothing, you foolish elf, what could you do? Get back to work!”  
  
“Very well, sir.”  
  
Truno left with a displeased crack.  
  
“How long has she been like this?”  
  
“For over an hour. I sent for you immediately.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey was whispering, while Snape’s voice seemed to be getting louder.  
  
“Your first message did not make it past the Minister’s secretary,” he said angrily.  
  
“Indeed! I do not understand it, for I said it was most urgent and related to Miss Granger!”  
  
Snape was bending over her, touching Hermione’s head lightly.  
  
 _Can you hear me?_  
  
 _Yes,_ answered Hermione tiredly. _I’m so glad you’re here._  
  
“I believe she will be fine,” said Snape. “She is coherent.”  
  
“How can you be sure?” questioned McGonagall.  
  
“I cannot be _sure_ ,” he replied impatiently, “but there is, after all, a precedent.”  
  
“So, you’ve come to the same conclusion as I have,” said Madam Pomfrey.  
  
“What other conclusion is there?” Snape interrupted irritably. “We are obviously linked by this curse!”


	15. The Recovery

_There’s something I should tell you... in case I die this time,_ thought Hermione faintly.  
  
Severus stood over her. Madam Pomfrey and Minerva had left only seconds ago.  
  
“You are not dying, Granger,” he replied firmly. “I suggest you take into consideration that whatever deathbed confession you make now may be deeply regretted in the morning – especially if it relates to the mysterious disappearance of certain potions ingredients over the years.”  
  
Severus allowed himself a small smirk.  
  
 _How can you be sure that I’m not dying?_  
  
“Your breathing has returned to normal,” he observed. “I predict a full recovery this evening.”  
  
 _Because you’re here now,_ she added. _We’re connected. Is that why it’s so easy for us to – communicate – like we do?_  
  
“Perhaps,” he said.  
  
Severus had much on his mind, but he would not leave Granger until she improved substantially. He sat by her bed, pondering the nature of the connection which was now clearly confirmed.  
  
It seemed the link between them depended heavily upon physical proximity, for he had only been gone a few hours. There had been times over the past weeks that he had gone much longer without seeing her or talking with her while staying within the grounds, without ill effect. Severus’ thoughts were interrupted by a conspicuous cough. He looked up at the frame that hung above Granger’s head.  
  
“Well, portrait, what have you to say?”  
  
“I believe Miss Granger is upset when you leave, Severus, and that is all. As you know, the state of the mind affects the entire body.”  
  
Severus made a scoffing noise.  
  
“Surely she is not so irrational. There was no reason to assume that I would not be back before dinner this evening.”  
  
 _I knew that! I am not irrational._  
  
 _That is what I just said, Granger._  
  
“There is another possible explanation...” said Severus carefully. He repositioned himself in his chair and leaned forward.  
  
“A life debt might explain the connection,” he said. “It is ancient magic, complex and impossible to predict. We were hit by the same curse at the same time, at the very moment a life debt was incurred. Perhaps the magic invoked has made me responsible for her recovery.”  
  
Severus forgot that he was supposed to be addressing the portrait and stood to pace as he began talking to himself aloud.  
  
“My recovery is explained by only being grazed by the curse. I fought it and recovered. I am told that before I woke, I appeared to be dead, in the same way Miss Granger does now. Why would I show what must be assumed to be the intended effects of the curse while she, being hit full force, had none? The connection forged by the life debt could have passed the effects to me. I recovered, and my strength is what keeps her body from surrendering to the curse.”  
  
 _Immunity,_ piped up Granger.  
  
“What?” he asked, for he had forgotten that he had an audience.  
  
 _It’s how Muggles often prevent disease,_ she thought. _They expose a person to a very small amount of a disease, or a modified version of it, to allow them to develop immunity. Maybe you are sharing your immunity to the curse with me._  
  
“Yes, Granger...” said Severus. “That is the idea.”  
  
 _She's like a parasite,_ he thought to himself, feeling a bit ill.  
  
“Ahem,” coughed Dumbledore’s portrait. “Severus, it is a well-fitting explanation. In fact, it fits too well. It is far more likely that Miss Granger simply feels safer knowing that you are in the castle, and when you are gone her anxious state of mind causes her to deteriorate. If you did not come back, she would have no hope of recovery, no person to converse with, and I daresay it would be impossible not to dwell on those thoughts. Add to that the outcome of your trial hanging in the balance, or today, your vagueness about the purpose of your meeting, and you cannot blame the girl for her anxiety. Never underestimate the power of hope, or the consequences of its absence.”  
  
Severus stared at the portrait, not wanting to admit that it seemed to be thinking more clearly than he was at the moment.  
  
 _What do you say to that, Granger?_ he asked.  
  
 _I was not... worried,_ she said. _I did wonder why you were being so secretive about the meeting. However, I knew that if it were anything serious someone would tell me. I wasn’t anxious today. Mostly I was just bored.  
  
Did not Madam Pomfrey read to you?  
  
Oh, yes, and I did like the book you picked, but after a while I just got tired of listening.  
  
I see.  
  
I think your theory is better, _she thought. _I did not lose hope. I knew you would come back._  
  
Severus did not reply. He did not think the portrait was right, but neither could he defend his own theory. It was all theory and no evidence. If it was correct, there may be nothing he could do to help Granger other than stay by her bedside forever, hoping that eventually she would have the strength to overcome the curse and free him from his debt.  
  
 _Do you know much about life debts?_  
  
Severus was becoming accustomed to his thoughts being interrupted by her questions.  
  
“I know enough,” he said delicately. “They are often not easily repaid.”  
  
 _What incurs a life debt? Can a person refuse to repay one?_  
  
“Not without – adverse – effects. A true life debt is binding magic. However, it is customary to repay a life debt even when there is no magic invoked. Not to do so is considered the worst kind of luck. It is... a very strong superstition. In such a situation, the person indebted would decide how to repay it. With a true life debt, the magic determines how it should be repaid and the debtor has little to no choice in the matter.”  
  
He felt her shrink back from him.  
  
 _Oh... that makes sense. I was always confused when I heard talk about life debts. It was never explained that there could be real, powerful magic behind it. How do you know if it’s a true life debt, then?_  
  
“True life debts are created by an act of sacrifice... for example, when one's life is offered up to save another.”  
  
Granger was silent and he could only imagine that she was regretting her own sacrifice.  
  
“I believe you are feeling better,” he said feeling her forehead, suddenly conscious of how intimate the gesture seemed. “Your color is returning.”  
  
 _Yes, I am not as cold anymore. Well, except for my hands and feet. They’re always the last to warm._  
  
“You feel no other effects?”  
  
 _No._  
  
Severus settled back into his chair and pulled out the book.  
  
 _I believe we finished chapter seven last time,_ he thought.  
  
 _Yes,_ she thought back, her sudden happiness making him suspect that she would be beaming at him if she could. It was a disconcerting thought.  
  
 _Very well._ Severus began to read. _Chapter eight deals with the relegation of Legilimency to official myth status, which was a wise strategy for those practicing the art in the late 1600’s..._  
  
He could tell that she wavered in and out of attention as he read but he pretended not to notice. He had almost finished the chapter when he realized that she had fallen asleep. He shut the book and stood. He hesitated and then placed his right hand lightly on hers. It was warm. She was fully recovered and resting. Severus looked down at his hand, wondering if the magic connecting him to Granger was strengthened by touch. He willed his magic to heal her, but after a few moments of the growing warmth under his palm resulting in no change his hand fell back to his side in disappointment.  
  
Severus left her and went in search of Madam Pomfrey. He found her easily enough, for she had come back to check on Granger.  
  
“Well, Severus, how is your patient?”  
  
“Recovered,” he replied. “She has recovered completely.”  
  
“You should eat something,” said Pomfrey in a motherly way. “It’s late.”  
  
“I will consider it,” he said.  
  
“What is the next course of action?” asked Pomfrey. “We must discover the nature of this connection.”  
  
“Certainly,” he said.  
  
“I think...” she said cautiously.“I think you will have to leave again without telling her. It may be that she simply gets anxious when she knows you’re gone.”  
  
“I see you have been talking to the portrait, Madam.”  
  
“Severus, she is a smart girl, but she is lonely and frightened. Her emotions may have a very real effect on the situation.”  
  
“Her emotions, Madam? Are you able to discern what her emotions are? Have you spoken with her in my absence? Perhaps you caught her crying earlier when she thought no one was watching?”  
  
“Severus, please! You are nothing if not thorough. Why should you refuse to consider Albus’ opinion?”  
  
“I have considered it!” he said adamantly. “I consider it a logical, though unlikely, explanation. I will be testing the connection as you have suggested, but you would do well to remember that Albus is dead and no portrait can have his – powers of discernment.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey only gave him a hard look. Severus bowed slightly and made to leave.  
  
“Severus,” said Pomfrey, and he met her eyes again.  
  
“Hermione is barely more than a child. Do not expect too much from her.”  
  
“Hermione is a strong young woman, Madam. I suspect she has not been a child for quite some time. War is no place for children.”  
  
Severus walked away without waiting for her reaction. He planned to take an unannounced trip off the grounds within the next few days. He would not go too soon, for another episode so near the last may weaken Hermione too much. Leaving unannounced for only a few hours would be enough to tell him whether it was mental distress giving the curse a stronger hold, or his physical absence. He was certain it was the second.  
  
Severus did not take Madam Pomfrey’s advice about the food. He was too agitated to eat anything. He spent much of the night reading all he could find on life debts. He did not think the curse itself was what connected them, because Voldemort could not have known that Granger would jump in front of it. No, it must be the life debt he owed Granger that made her dependent on him.  
  
It was a strange circumstance. Severus had never heard of a life debt forming such a connection. Every example he could find involved adverse affects on the debtor if he or she did not properly repay the debt.  
  
Severus went to bed with more questions than before he had started. It seemed that the more he learned about the curse, the further he was from understanding it. He was mysteriously connected to Granger, directly responsible for her life. Severus slept uneasily that night until the familiar dream came and woke him peacefully in the morning.  
  
He woke later than usual and went to breakfast, where not only McGonagall, but Madam Pomfrey, Madam Hooch, and surprisingly, Hagrid, were seated.  
  
“Mornin’, Professor,” Hagrid said through his mouthful of food. Severus only nodded stiffly and took a seat next to McGonagall.  
  
“I s'pose I ought to be callin’ you headmaster again,” he said, waving his spoon in Snape’s direction and assuming a serious expression.“I’m glad yer back.”  
  
Severus did not know how to respond to the burly half-giant. He typically avoided interaction with Hagrid, and Hagrid returned the favor. Severus appreciated this about the man who had always been too simple to suspect Severus of double-crossing Dumbledore. Hagrid always had complete faith in the former Headmaster. Severus wondered if he was worried about his job now that Dumbledore was not there to make excuses for him. In the interest of a good education, Severus _should_ fire him immediately, but that would mean actually addressing Hagrid, who was just finishing his meal and scraping his chair back with a satisfied sigh.  
  
Severus decided it would be too much of a hassle to find a new teacher for Care of Magical Creatures. It was not an essential subject as far as Severus was concerned. He would, however, make sure to point Hagrid in the right direction with the curriculum.  
  
The first bite of his breakfast was halfway to his mouth when Minerva cleared her throat. Severus’ fork hovered as he waited for her to speak. Instead, she reached over and tapped the table, or rather, the paper that was lying on it.  
  
Severus stubbornly moved his eyes back to his plate and began to eat. Minutes stretched on in silence except for the sound of silverware on plates. Severus had long been used to the silences that his presence produced, but the women had not treated him to a silent breakfast in weeks. He let his eyes drift to the paper a few times, but refused to read it in their company. Twice, he caught Minerva and Madam Pomfrey looking at one another with strange expressions that looked suspiciously like suppressed laughter. Severus vowed to read the article as soon as they left him in peace.  
  
Either the women were eating exceptionally slowly that morning, or they were determined to watch him read the article. Severus finished his breakfast and glared at them as they carefully picked at their plates. He scraped his chair back and slid the paper off the table.  
  
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said with a sneer, and retreated in search of some privacy.  
  
Though he normally would have read in Granger’s room after checking on her, he decided to delay his visit when he found that she was sleeping. Though she should be awake at that hour, today he would allow her more time for recuperation. A few more minutes would not hurt her and he wanted the sanctuary of his office.  
  
He arrived, paper in hand, to find Fawkes flying circles around the room, though he was perfectly free to fly out of the open window at any time. It was then that Severus noticed it was pouring rain. Fawkes perched on his desk and cocked his head as if he were trying to read the headlines in Severus’ hand.  
  
“I suppose you want to laugh at me as well,” said Severus, and took a seat behind the desk, opening the paper at last. Fawkes flicked his tail at him and flew back to his perch, where he stared out the window and looked downcast.  
  
“I didn’t think phoenixes minded the rain,” remarked Severus. “Don’t you repel water?”  
  
Fawkes fixed a steely glare on him before tucking his head and closing his eyes.  
  
“If you’re going to sulk, you might make yourself useful and cry for Miss Granger.”  
  
Fawkes ignored him. Severus knew he could neither ask nor force the phoenix to cry its healing tears for Hermione. He returned to the paper in front of him.  
  
 _“Hermione’s Hair was my favorite story! Just imagine if Hermione had married that other jerk! Only Severus deserves her love!”  
-Edith Barry  
  
“You got one thing right – Hermione Granger has the worst head of hair you’ll ever see. How hard is it to use a de-frizzing potion? We all know she doesn’t have the kind of excuse you made up for her!”  
-Anonymous  
  
“I do not think that a girl of Miss Granger’s intelligence would stoop to marrying someone who ridiculed her. Neither do I believe she would marry her professor because he helped her make a hair potion.”  
-Frieda Forth  
  
 **To Die for Love**  
  
There was a brave Gryffindor girl, smart and ferocious like the lion mascot of her house. She grew up to be kind and beautiful as well, and she would break the hearts of her best friends, who happened to be Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.  
  
You see, Hermione had a secret that she dared not tell a soul. She loved a professor – the dark, mysterious Professor Snape. She contented herself with defending him whenever she could without giving away her secret. Even those small defenses caused her friends to doubt her sanity, for Professor Snape was universally disliked. Only Hermione could see past his cold exterior and from the time she learned he was a spy, she loved him.  
  
Hermione knew that the Professor would be mortified if he knew about her feelings. He would mock her, or worse, ignore her. She could not let him discover the truth.  
  
She loved him even when everyone else believed he had betrayed them. Hermione doubted as well, but she could not hate him and never gave up hope that he was still on the side of good.  
  
When the time came, Hermione and her friends joined in the final battle against Voldemort. Hermione’s hopes were rewarded when she realized that Professor Snape was fighting against the Death Eaters. When she saw Voldemort raise his wand to curse her beloved Professor she knew what she must do. Hermione jumped in front of the Professor and took Voldemort’s curse – but she did not die.  
  
Professor Snape was hit by the curse as well, for poor Hermione did not manage to block the whole thing. He did not die either. He woke up a few days later and found himself completely healed. Hermione was not so lucky, for she had taken the brunt of the unknown curse. She now lived as if she were Sleeping Beauty, living and breathing but in a sleep like death.  
  
It was a Healer that found the note tucked inside her shirt over her heart. It was a letter to the Professor, saying that if he was reading it she must be dead, and proclaimed her love for him.  
  
The professor was mortified as she had predicted, but he worked tirelessly to revive her and soon his bitter heart was softened and he began to love Hermione.  
  
It was not long before Hermione died for love, as she had intended that day in battle. However, the Professor did not go on to live the free and happy life that she had hoped he would. He grieved until he died, for he was haunted by the knowledge that she had only ever known him to treat her badly. Before he breathed his last, he requested to be buried next to her. When finally they were both lay to rest, a very peculiar thing happened...  
  
… from her heart grew a red, red rose, and from his heart a briar. They grew, they grew so awful high 'till they could grow no higher, and ‘twas there they tied a lover's knot, the red rose ‘round the briar._  
  
Severus snorted and looked up from the article. Would the public ever grow tired of reading sentimental nonsense? The last rhyming lines of the article echoed in his head, in a woman’s dramatic tones. He shook his head a few times and stood up quickly, startling Fawkes.  
  
“It is still raining,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”  
  
Fawkes twittered in annoyance and resettled on his perch.  
  
Severus decided it was high time that he woke Granger. He was halfway to her room when he realized that he was carrying the paper with him. When he arrived he tossed it onto the bed and sat down next to it.  
  
“Granger,” he said, feeling her stir from her sleep.  
  
 _Yes?_ she answered blearily.  
  
“You must wake up,” he said. “Remember what I've told you –”  
  
 _Yes, I know,_ she thought-sighed. _I’m awake!_  
  
“Very well,” he said. “Do you remember yesterday?”  
  
 _Yes, of course I do,_ she said. _I’m only tired, not stupid._  
  
Severus did not appreciate her manners and was about to tell her so when Madam Pomfrey appeared. She came over and fussed with Granger’s covers, giving Severus a calculated look. It was not an expression he was used to seeing on the woman’s face and it took him by surprise. He picked up the paper on the bed and held it out to her.  
  
“Perhaps you might read today’s claptrap to our patient,” he said. “Do wait until I’m out of the room.”  
  
“I shall do no such thing,” said Pomfrey. “I've got an appointment in London in a few minutes. Why don't you read it to her yourself?”  
  
Severus marveled at the coldness in her voice, which he credited to their encounter the night before. Surely she would not take such offense because he had insulted the portrait?  
  
“I assure you, Madam, I have no interest in hearing what The Prophet has printed about me today. I only asked because Granger finds them amusing. Surely you would not deny her that small enjoyment?”  
  
Madam Pomfrey harrumphed and shook out a fresh blanket.  
  
“You know what’s best for her, Severus,” she said. “If she wants to hear it, I suggest you read it to her. Miss Weasley normally does, but I do not know if she will be in today. She is usually here by now.”  
  
She shooed Severus off the bed and quickly switched the blankets. “You are both _adults_ and should be able to handle the situation maturely. Now, I really must be going!”  
  
With that, she left Severus standing with the paper in hand. So, this was about Granger, or rather, his insistence that Poppy stop treating her like a child. The woman had not taken the criticism well.


	16. The Confession

Madam Pomfrey was unusually curt this morning, Hermione noted. The witch yanked a sheet over Hermione with force, glaring at Professor Snape as he removed himself from his seat on the bed.  
  
Hermione was still feeling incredibly guilty. She had to tell him the truth about the final battle, because it meant his theory about the life debt was wrong.  
  
Snape was standing by her bed with the paper in his hand, looking surprised in his own, subtle way. Hermione had been too distracted by her own thoughts to hear Madam Pomfrey’s parting words, but they had not sounded pleasant.  
  
 _What is the matter with her?_ Hermione asked.  
  
Snape studied her for a moment, immediately concealing his surprise.  
  
“Madam Pomfrey thinks the portrait is right about you,” he said. “She is upset that I disagree.”  
  
 _But why should that make her angry? You disagree with people all the time._  
  
The thin line of Snape’s mouth grew harder in displeasure.  
  
“Manners, Granger,” he said.  
  
 _Sorry,_ she thought quickly. _She should trust you over the portrait – we know where you keep your brain!_  
  
Snape only raised an eyebrow.  
  
 _Sorry, it’s an old joke between me and Ginny. What I mean is that you actually have a brain, and a brilliant one at that... why would she be surprised that you don’t take orders from a portrait?_  
  
“I should think that was obvious, Granger.”  
  
 _Yes,_ she agreed, thinking of Madam Pomfrey’s daily chatter with ‘Albus’. _She talks to the portrait as if it's really Dumbledore._  
  
Hermione must tell Snape about the life debt. She tried to imagine his response and hoped he would not be hurt. Had anyone ever cared enough for Snape that they would die for him?  
  
Hermione also had more selfish reasons for secrecy. If there was no life debt, would he continue to help her?  
  
Yes. Hermione was sure he would not abandon her. She mentally scolded herself for thinking of him as the evil Slytherin spy again. She was more worried about ruining their… well, what was it? It was nothing so formal as professor and student, but it was not really a friendship. She supposed it was a delicate, mutual trust that had grown between them. He could trust her more than anyone else in the world, since she was unable to talk, and she realized that she trusted him as well. He had not told anyone about her parents, and he never invaded her private thoughts.  
  
Hermione turned her attention back to the dark figure seated once again on her bed. She was glad he sat there instead of the chair because she could see his face clearly. Hermione felt an enormous rush of gratitude toward him as he scribbled in his notebook. How lonely he must be. He must never leave the castle, for if he had left at all in the weeks since the battle, she would have turned to stone.  
  
Suddenly, he stopped writing and stared at her.  
  
“What is the matter, Granger?"  
  
 _Nothing,_ she thought. _What are you writing about?_  
  
He did not answer her, but put the notebook away and shook out his sleeves before folding his arms.  
  
“You are upset,” he stated, frowning.  
  
 _I’m not,_ Hermione insisted in what she hoped was a casual tone. _I’m just thinking about our – connection._  
  
“What about it?”  
  
 _I just don’t understand how it works. I’ve never heard of anything like it, and well – I’ve read a lot._  
  
Though his face was a carefully held mask, Hermione could sense his amusement.  
  
“You wouldn’t have been reading the right books, Granger.”  
  
Hermione decided to give him that point, though she had probably read more of the Restricted Section than he realized.  
  
 _I guess I just feel terrible for taking over your life. You’ve already done so much, and now you’re stuck here taking care of me…_  
  
Snape just stared at her in silence. She waited.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Granger,” he finally said, in a very low voice. “You took my curse, not my life.”  
  
Hermione struggled to continue. Now was the time.  
  
 _I have to tell you something,_ she thought, and he looked up at her again, his black eyes more piercing than ever. Did he sense it in her mind already?  
  
“What is it?”  
  
 _It’s – about our connection. I need to tell you what really happened in the battle._  
  
His face was still blank, but she saw the spark of interest light up in his eyes.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
 _I –_ Hermione tried, but the way he was looking at her made her wish she could pull her blanket over her head.  
  
Snape made an impatient noise and leaned closer to her, his eyes boring into hers.  
  
 _Show me,_ he commanded, making her mind buzz uncomfortably.  
  
Unable to say it, Hermione gave in and dredged up the old memories. She showed him the familiar battle scene from her perspective.  
  
 _The three Death Eaters surrounded her – she was going to die! Curses flew and she desperately jumped out of the way. She was hit by Voldemort's curse, her own shock mirrored in Snape’s face. As her consciousness faded, she was overwhelmed with regret and anger that she had died in vain. If she had realized what was happening, she would have jumped sooner. Her death should have at least saved him!_  
  
With great effort, Hermione fought the memories back into the recesses of her mind, leaving her alone with a very quiet Snape.  
  
 _It was... just an accident,_ Hermione was finally able to say in a small, hollow thought-voice. _There is no life debt._  
  
He slowly sat back and the buzzing in her head subsided.  
  
“So it would seem,” said Snape.  
  
 _I’m sorry,_ said Hermione. _I would have told you before, but…_  
  
She did not finish, for he had risen and was pacing.  
  
 _Are you – angry?_ Hermione asked timidly. Snape stopped pacing abruptly and looked at her.  
  
“I am not,” he said, looking as though he could not believe it himself. “Miss Granger, you – ”  
  
There was a knock at the door. Snape snapped his head around to glare in the direction of the interruption.  
  
“Well, who is it?” he demanded. The door opened a few inches and then with a scuffling sound and irritated whispers it was opened wider to reveal Harry, Ron, and Ginny.  
  
“Er – hello, sir,” said Harry after an awkward silence. “We’ve come to see... Hermione?”  
  
Harry’s words trailed off into a confused question. Snape had stopped glaring at him and now staring at Hermione. Seconds passed before he acknowledged Harry with another irritated glance.  
  
“Miss Granger, do you feel like company?”  
  
Snape spit out the last word with disgust.  
  
 _I –_ Hermione was startled by his sudden anger. _Yes, of course I want to see them!_  
  
“Very well.” Snape looked back at Harry, sneering. “I suppose one cannot send such – devoted – friends away.”  
  
He made his exit, sweeping past the scowling trio and disappearing. Hermione spent the next few minutes replaying their conversation in her mind. She slowly became aware that her friends were having their own conversation around her, which seemed to have been going on for a while.  
  
“…and he said the job was mine if I want it, as soon as I finish up classes!”  
  
“That’s wonderful, Ron!” Hermione could hear the beaming smile in Ginny’s voice.  
  
“Yeah, really great, Ron,” chimed in Harry, with much less enthusiasm, a fact that Hermione knew Ron would not notice. Who could be offering Ron a job and why did Harry sound jealous?  
  
There was a familiar rustling of paper and then Ron groaned and said, “No, Ginny, not that again! I told you not to bring it!”  
  
“I didn’t bring it, Ron, it was just laying here on the bed!”  
  
Ron laughed. “So Snape must’ve read it, then.”  
  
“Well, I liked today's... it’s better than the others.”  
  
“Ginny, they _die_ and it’s Snape! Snape and Hermione!”  
  
Ron made retching sounds and Ginny punched him.  
  
“Ow! Look, Padma’s already read it three times today. I’ve reached my limit!”  
  
Harry clapped Ron on the back.  
  
“Face it, Ron – your girlfriend’s got a crush on Snape.”  
  
Ron coughed and Ginny’s eyes widened. She gave Harry a look that made him cringe and fall silent. Ginny opened the paper and began to read the article. Hermione would have rolled her eyes at them. Did they really think they had been successful at hiding what was going on?  
  
“… _'and from her heart grew a red, red rose, and from his heart a briar. They grew, they grew so awful high 'till they could grow no higher, and ‘twas there they tied a lover's knot, the red rose ‘round the briar'._ ”  
  
As Ginny finished reading, Hermione realized that she knew the words that ended the article. They reminded her of a poem, or perhaps a song from her childhood.  
  
Ron sighed loudly and yawned. Harry was frowning.  
  
“What fairy tale is that from?” he asked.  
  
Now it was Ginny’s turn to frown.  
  
“I don’t know. The last part sounds like a poem.”  
  
“Yeah,” replied Harry. “I think I’ve heard it before. But what I really want to know is how did they know so much about what happened in the battle? Who told them that Snape was hit by the curse too?”  
  
“Anyone could have, Harry,” said Ginny. “I’m surprised it wasn’t sooner.”  
  
Ginny crumpled the newspaper into a ball and threw it across the room into the wastebasket.  
  
“And for the record, it wasn’t Percy this time!”  
  
Ginny stood up.  
  
“What? I didn’t say anything about Percy!”  
  
“You don’t have to, Harry. You still haven’t forgiven him, or me, it seems. Just let it go!”  
  
“I have let it go! But doesn’t it make you mad that someone is probably making money off Hermione?!”  
  
“And Snape,” said Ron suddenly.  
  
“Yeah, all right, _and Snape_ ,” said Harry sarcastically. “Don’t start, Ron! You’re too busy with Padma to care about anything else anymore!” Harry stood up as well. “All I’m saying is that not many people knew that Snape almost died or how it happened.”  
  
“I guess so...” said Ginny, “but, Harry, getting angry isn’t going to help! At least there was some truth in this story, so it wasn't complete bollocks this time!”  
  
An uncomfortable silence followed during which Ron stood up as well.  
  
“Well,” he said. “I’ve got to meet –”  
  
“Padma,” finished Harry. “Right. Let’s go then. Sorry for the rotten visit, Hermione. I’ll be back soon.”  
  
“'Bye, Hermione,” said Ron. Ginny came over and gave her a hug.  
  
“You look beautiful, Hermione. We miss you.”  
  
Hermione watched them go with relief. She hated to hear her friends bicker when she could not join the conversation.  
  
Snape did not come back until that night. He walked in and began flipping through her chart, perhaps to convince himself that he had not come just to read to her. He sat down with the book in hand, but did not open it. His earlier anger was gone. Hermione attributed it to the absence of Harry and Ron.  
  
 _We’re almost done with the book,_ Hermione observed.  
  
“Yes,” he said, but did not move. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.  
  
 _You never told me what your meeting with the Ministry was about,_ said Hermione. She was surprised when it did not take him long to answer.  
  
“I have officially accepted the position of Headmaster,” he said blandly. “There was much to discuss, or rather a few matters to discuss inefficiently and pompously in the presence of every reporter in the country.”  
  
 _Be sure to bring a paper tomorrow,_ said Hermione, _if Ginny doesn’t come._  
  
He only grunted. Severus Snape had just grunted at her. Hermione wondered if there was ever a male who did not revert back to this primal language at some point. Here was one who could project his thoughts directly into her mind, and he had grunted a reply instead.  
  
 _I’m surprised it didn’t leak early,_ said Hermione.  
  
 _It was decided the day before over breakfast,_ he replied. _There was no time for it to be leaked._  
  
 _That’s good. I think... you are the best choice,_ said Hermione, and she sensed that it amused him.  
  
 _Granger, you are brown-nosing already._  
  
 _I am not!_ Hermione thought indignantly. _I am being logical. You will command the perfect combination of fear, awe, and respect. McGonagall is not a world-known hero, or a former spy, and she doesn’t have your stealth when patrolling the halls.  
  
Granger, if you are not brown-nosing, then you must be under the impression that I am upset by your confession earlier today, _he thought. _Let me assure you that I have not spent the day sobbing in my chambers because you saved my life by accident.  
  
Of course not... I didn't think... that,_ thought Hermione, feeling embarrassed. _But I do feel bad for not telling you sooner. It –_ she hesitated, thinking of his opinion of Harry.  
  
 _It wasn’t because I wanted to be thought a hero,_ she thought carefully.  
  
 _You were afraid I would abandon you,_ Snape thought emotionlessly.  
  
 _No! At first I truly didn’t remember what had happened. It was while you were away at the trial, when I had the dream about the battle, that I finally remembered everything. Then, I was so foggy and relieved that you were back... and no, I didn’t worry that you would leave me, because you were – are – so different now.  
  
How so?_  
  
Hermione wondered if he was enjoying her embarrassment. She could not believe what she was about to say to Severus Snape.  
  
 _You are – kind to me,_ she admitted. _You read to me. You didn't let the Healers take me away to St. Mungo's, and you made my friends come visit more often to keep me sane._  
  
Snape was silent. Hermione wished he was not so good at hiding his thoughts from her. He sat up and stared at her.  
  
“You are too trusting,” he said.  
  
 _I am not. I was right to trust you. You know the truth now, and you’re still here with a book in your hand._  
  
Snape frowned and tucked the book away.  
  
 _I trusted you because you were on our side,_ Hermione added. _It wasn’t until you mentioned it the other day that I even considered a life debt as a motive._  
  
Snape now stood over her, looking grim.  
  
“Then perhaps you are not so intelligent after all,” he said, and his voice softened. “Or perhaps you are just a product of your house. A Slytherin would have suspected it from the beginning.”  
  
He started to leave.  
  
“Do not worry, Granger,” he said. “Whatever you did or did not intend to do, we are still connected by this curse. I will not leave you.”  
  
Hermione wondered if his parting words were as carefully selected as she suspected them to be. He had not said that he could not leave her, but that he would not.  
  
Hermione analyzed the words far longer than was necessary. After his strange behavior when she confessed the truth she had been worried, but he had returned in good humor and even teased her about the situation. He was still Snape – the Snape that she had come to know, not the one she remembered from the classroom.  
  
Hermione fell asleep easily and woke with the pink morning light from the rose window. Suddenly, Hermione noticed a black shape near the window. It was Snape, standing statue-still. His face was half-hidden by his hair, but she thought he looked tired.  
  
 _Good morning,_ she thought. _You’re early._  
  
He moved slowly into the light, making it ripple over her as he passed the window on his way to her bedside.  
  
“Good morning, Miss Granger,” he said in a half-whisper. He stared at her intensely, unblinking. Still moving slowly, he placed his hand over hers.  
  
“What do you feel? Your hand.” He was still speaking in a low voice as if he was afraid to be overheard.  
  
Hermione felt a bit frightened, but she struggled to concentrate. Her hand felt very warm, much warmer than the rest of her body.  
  
 _Warm,_ she reported. He did not move.  
  
Hermione’s hand tingled and burned warmer. She wanted to shake it out and rub the tingles away.  
  
 _Does yours feel – all hot and tingly?_ Hermione asked.  
  
“Yes,” he said, removing his hand.  
  
 _What does it mean?_  
  
“It means I am right,” said Snape.  
  
 _But it can’t be a life debt,_ protested Hermione.  
  
“No,” he said calmly. “It means I am right about the nature of the connection – physical proximity.”  
  
Hermione was about to ask if he had a new theory but he interrupted her thoughts.  
  
“Granger, do not be alarmed.”  
  
Snape sat on the bed and took her hands in his. Severus Snape was holding her hands. It was not as horrible as it sounded. He had closed his eyes and looked like he was meditating. Her hands were hot, burning, tingling... but that was it. She waited uncounted minutes until he prompted her to respond.  
  
 _Well, Granger?_  
  
Hermione wished she had better news.  
  
 _Nothing’s changed, except that my hands are very warm._  
  
Suddenly, Snape dropped them like hot potatoes.  
  
“Severus? You’re early today.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey was standing in the doorway.  
  
Snape stood and turned to face the obviously suspicious witch.  
  
“Yes, Madam,” he replied coolly. “I did not sleep well last night and woke early.”  
  
Pomfrey was still eyeing him.  
  
“I see,” she said. “So you woke Miss Granger as well?”  
  
Snape swept his robe around in annoyance.  
  
“No, it seems that she woke on her own. I believe Miss Granger is an early riser.”  
  
“If any teenager were to be an early riser, it would be her,” Pomfrey agreed easily. “She’s seems the type.”  
  
“If you will excuse me,” said Snape brushing past her. “I will see you in the Great Hall.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey made no comment until he was gone.  
  
“Albus! Albus, are you there?”  
  
Apparently he was not, and the witch sighed, fussed with Hermione’s hair, and sent a cleaning spell at her.  
  
Hermione spent the rest of the morning waiting for Snape to bring the paper. She suspected his absence had something to do with the fact that Madam Pomfrey hovered over her after breakfast. Sure enough, as soon as the witch was gone for more than five minutes, he appeared.  
  
“Your paper,” he said, holding it up so that she could read the headline.  
  
 _ **Severus Snape Returns As Headmaster**_  
  
“I won’t bore you with the details, as you already know them all. The writing is abysmal as usual.”  
  
The article looked very long and when Hermione said so he only glanced at it and conceded, “I suppose it does take a certain talent to write so much while reporting so little.”  
  
 _What about page 5?_  
  
“You will have to wait for your friends for that, Granger.”  
  
He left and Hermione wondered when Ginny would show up. The newspaper lay at the foot of the bed, taunting her.  
  
Hermione was surprised when both Ginny and Harry came in an hour later. Just as she had hoped, Ginny grabbed the paper and began to read aloud.  
  
 _ **Ugly Ducklings**  
  
Hermione Granger was not a beautiful child. She had bushy hair that was a dull, boring brown. Her eyes were never described with lovely words like ‘chocolate’ or ‘amber’ or ‘hazel’. They were nearly the same shade as her hair. Her grandmother called her 'muddy-puddles' because as a child she cried all the time. She cried when her cousin killed a spider, or when she saw an animal run over by one of those Muggle machines on wheels. Her plain brown eyes were constantly filling with tears. As she got older she learned to stop crying so much, but the nickname stuck.  
  
Hermione was very happy the day that she learned she was a witch. Finally, she had somewhere to belong! Maybe in the wizarding world they wouldn’t care so much about what people looked like. Hermione was smart and she was determined to be an excellent witch.  
  
Hermione did become a talented witch, but she was never called beautiful. Sometimes, she wished she could be like other girls, who did not care as much about grades and homework, but Hermione knew she did not belong with them.  
  
Before her graduation from Hogwarts, Hermione was upset. She had worked very hard and done well in school, but she was afraid of life beyond Hogwarts. Her friends were getting married and would work together at the Ministry. She was sure they would forget about her, and all of her family was Muggle. Hermione still did not belong anywhere.  
  
If only I was not so ugly, she thought, I would have more friends, or at least a date to the Seventh Year Ball. Hermione’s eyes began to fill with tears and she cried like she had not cried for years. It was unfortunate that she was in the middle of a corridor when it happened. She hurried along, hoping that she would not see anyone before she got to her dormitory.  
  
Hermione was not so lucky. Who should step into the hall at that moment but Professor Snape, the most unsympathetic teacher in the school. Hermione tried to stop crying but after all those years of holding it back it was impossible.  
  
Professor Snape did something unexpected. He grabbed Hermione’s arm and pulled her into a nearby classroom.  
  
“What is this about?” he demanded, for Professor Snape never asked things nicely.  
  
Normally, Hermione would have said ‘nothing’ and immediately stopped crying, but since she could not stop, she told him everything. She told him about not being beautiful, not belonging, and even about how much she had hated the nickname “muddy-puddles”, which her family still called her. The professor was astonished and caught so off-guard that he said the first thing that came to his mind.  
  
“Rubbish!”  
  
“What?” asked Hermione through her tears.  
  
“Rubbish,” he repeated. “You are beautiful.”  
  
“What!” said Hermione again, because this was the last thing she had expected to hear. She managed to stop crying now.  
  
“You are beautiful,” he said. “Your eyes are not muddy, that’s rubbish. Mud is not a color, it is all manner of different colors, is it not?”  
  
“You’re right,” said Hermione in surprise. “I never thought of that.”  
  
“Furthermore,” said the professor, “your hair is not ‘bushy’, it’s untamed.” With that, he conjured up a small bottle and poured its contents over her head. Her hair immediately relaxed into loose waves.  
  
“What potion was that?” wondered Hermione.  
  
“The one every other witch in Britain buys,” said Snape. “Don’t Muggles have hair products?”  
  
“My mother only uses homemade Muggle shampoo,” admitted Hermione.“She sends some to me every other month.”  
  
Snape only shook his head.  
  
“Finally, you are smarter than every other silly young girl at this school as well as half of the faculty, and because of it you can ‘belong’ more places than them. Pick one and stop crying about it!”  
  
They stared at one another in mutual shock. Finally, Hermione spoke.  
  
“Thank you, sir. But I have one more question.”  
  
“Ask it,” he said.  
  
“What color are my eyes, then?”  
  
Professor Snape studied them. He came up with many answers later and told her every one, but that day he simply answered, “brown”. Eventually, Hermione decided that one of the places she wanted to belong was with Professor Snape, and they lived beautifully ever after._  
  
Hermione noticed that Harry was dozing off as Ginny finished the article. The redhead gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow.  
  
“Did you even hear the story, Harry?”  
  
“Er – yes,” he said sheepishly. “I heard the part about ‘muddy-puddles’, and I'm offended for Hermione!”  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes and swatted him with the newspaper. He responded by tickling her, the fight from the day before apparently forgotten.  
  
Hermione was not offended by the article. She had never thought of herself as beautiful, but she had never cried about it. She thought the latest version of Snape was the best. It was much more realistic.  
  
“All right, Gin! I’m going, I’m going!”  
  
Harry gave his girlfriend a quick kiss and left.  
  
Ginny moved to her usual spot on the bed, glowing from the attention.  
  
“He’s doing an interview for a tiny local paper near Godric's Hollow,” she explained. “It was a compromise. If he had to do it, he wanted to spite The Prophet.”  
  
Ginny looked back at the doorway, and then leaned closer to Hermione.  
  
“Hermione, I’m going to tell you a secret,” she said. “Ron was the one who told The Prophet about Snape. He asked me first, and I said to do it because I didn’t think you’d mind. The Prophet is practically all anyone reads, so they might as well have some correct information for once. As for Ron dating Padma... I know it’s all very sudden, but even though she’s sort of ditzy for a Ravenclaw, they are great together. It feels like I’m betraying you to think that, but it’s the truth. Hermione, you deserve better than Ron. You’re brilliant, and he’s – well, he’s Ron.”  
  
Ginny sighed.  
  
“I’ve wanted to say that for a while. Harry hates Padma. I think he sees her as another ‘Lavender phase’. He says it’s because he always thought you and Ron belonged together, but I think he’s jealous of how much time Ron spends with her. Ron has always been Harry’s best friend, and he’s never had to share him with anyone before.”  
  
Ginny picked at her shirt in thought.  
  
“Well, I need to get back to The Burrow. I’ll see you soon, Hermione.”  
  
She sprang off the bed and floated away.  
  
Hermione could not help being envious of her friend. She had once felt something similar about Ron, but she was now ready to admit that Ginny was right. Hermione did not belong with Ron. She did not want to get married immediately after graduation, nor did she want a big family. She was not even sure she wanted children at all. Ron wanted all of those things, or at least thought that was just what wizards did after Hogwarts.  
  
With the fresh realization that she did not want Ron for herself anymore, old memories of him came unbidden into her thoughts. There had been some great moments with Ron. She was not sorry for anything that had happened between them, and while she hated her unwilling role as a silent witness to the end of their relationship before it truly began, she had to admit that if she had been able-bodied the breakup would have been infinitely more painful, messy, and drawn-out, but nonetheless inevitable. For all she knew, they would _still_ be sneaking around Harry and Ginny, pretending they had not admitted or acted on their mutual attraction.


	17. The Mistake

Severus had left Hermione’s room, his legs shaking with the adrenaline rush of nearly getting caught holding her hands. Despite seeing none of the encounter, Madam Pomfrey was suspicious of him, and with good reason. He had spent half the night contemplating his feelings for Hermione Granger.  
  
Severus was having trouble breathing. His vision spun and he leaned against the wall for support. After a few moments, he composed himself again and managed to make it through breakfast without Minerva noticing that anything was amiss. He wanted to return to Hermione and explain his actions more adequately. She had asked him to bring a paper. He glanced at the headline, “Severus Snape Returns as Headmaster.” It sounded remarkably sensible for _The Prophet._ He scanned the article. Despite its length, it only said that he would continue as Headmaster instead of McGonagall, that the decision was agreeable to the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, and that Severus was expected to make a formal statement sometime in the next week in a Ministry ceremony.  
  
The last assertion had come as a surprise to Severus, since he had not yet agreed to participate. He had been discussing the matter with the Minister when Truno the house-elf had appeared and dragged him back to Hogwarts to tend to Hermione.  
  
With the paper rolled in his hand he had intended to return to Hermione’s room, but found that he was playing a waiting game with Madam Pomfrey. The witch bustled in and out for over an hour before she finally gave Severus a chance to slip into the room alone. He was unable to do more than show Hermione the paper before he had noticed Pomfrey watching him from outside the half-open door.  
  
Irritated, he had exited, glaring at Madam Pomfrey as he passed her. When he entered his office Fawkes tilted his head and watched as Severus collapsed into his chair. He rested his forehead in his hands, staring at the grain of the wood in his desk until it blurred out of focus. Five minutes later, he stood and walked over to the Pensieve. For the tenth time since the day before, he sighed and fell into its swirling depths.  
  
 _Severus was in Dumbledore’s office, standing a few feet away from his younger self. It was an especially hot July day and Fawkes drooped on his perch.  
  
“You wanted to see me, Headmaster?”  
  
“Yes, Severus,” said Dumbledore, who was affixing a letter to an owl’s leg as he spoke. “Have a seat.”  
  
His younger self hesitated, but settled into a chair opposite Dumbledore.  
  
“I am sure you are aware,” began Dumbledore, “that today is Harry Potter’s eleventh birthday.”  
  
Severus stiffened in the chair.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“He will be attending Hogwarts this year,” continued Dumbledore, finishing with the owl and sending it on its way. He then met Severus’ impenetrable gaze with his own.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“You made a promise to me, Severus.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You will protect him, watch him, and perhaps even learn to care for him.”  
  
Dumbledore said the last part with the characteristic twinkle in his eyes. Severus only blinked once, very slowly, in annoyance.  
  
“I will fulfill my promise, and no... I think not.”  
  
“Very well,” said Dumbledore. “I know you will not fail me. That is not why I have called you here today.”  
  
Dumbledore stood and gestured to the opposite side of the room, where the Pensieve stood. The younger Severus tried to hide his curiosity unsuccessfully as he followed Dumbledore over to stand beside it. Dumbledore turned to fix him with a piercing look, but Severus' gaze stayed on the basin in front of them.  
  
“What I have to say involves the prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney.” Dumbledore paused and cleared his throat.“That is, it involves the second prophecy she made.”  
  
Younger Severus’ head snapped up.  
  
“The…second prophecy…?”  
  
“It occurred minutes after the first, immediately after you were thrown out by Aberforth. Sybill came out of her first trance and told me that anyone who resorted to listening at keyholes was not fit to teach... and then she promptly went into a second trance.”  
  
Dumbledore paused again and said thoughtfully, “It was out of the question to tell you while you were still in Voldemort’s service, perfecting the art of Occlumency as his spy, and you were in no condition to hear it then regardless. After that, it was easy enough to find reasons to delay, but now, I think, the time has come.”  
  
Severus could see the fear in his younger self’s face, though most people would probably only recognize a slight uneasiness. Without further comment, Dumbledore swirled the tip of his wand in the basin. Severus watched his own younger face as the pale, unmistakable figure of Trelawney rose from the surface and began speaking:  
  
“The Dark Lord’s servant will forsake him... the disloyal one will be saved by a woman’s innocent sacrifice... she his sworn enemy’s companion, she his mind’s equal… and through love for her he will thwart his master, but if he be not with her he will be condemned to a traitor’s fate… and only if she returns his love can he escape the Dark Lord’s curse that binds… the one the Dark Lord trusts will be redeemed by an innocent woman…”  
  
The figure disappeared and the younger Severus stood with his hands balled into white-knuckled fists, breathing unevenly. Dumbledore peered at him intently over his half-moon spectacles.  
  
“It is my prophecy,” stated Severus impassively, but his trembling body betrayed his emotion.  
  
“Without a doubt,” confirmed Dumbledore. “I did not know it at the time, of course, but it was not long before certain events made it clear that you were the ‘disloyal’ one.”  
  
Severus was still staring at the basin, his pale face shining with perspiration, his eyes reflecting the dim glimmer of the water's surface like black glass. Dumbledore seemed impatient to fill the silence and he smoothed his beard as he spoke.  
  
“I know that you did not study Divination at Hogwarts, Severus, but I wonder if you are aware of Luthro’s Theory. It states that prophetic visions must be triggered by something tangible. When a seer comes in contact with something or someone linked to a prophecy, a vision may result. I propose that your presence at the door that night was the catalyst for both prophecies. It seems that you were meant to hear the first, meant to take it to Lord Vold–”  
  
“No!” hissed Snape.“Do not say it!”  
  
He finally met Dumbledore’s gaze, looking feverish.  
  
“Do not speak to me about fate!” he hissed again.“You who are the skeptic!”  
  
Dumbledore was unfazed. He continued in a conversational tone.  
  
“Consider, Severus, Lily’s death has indeed saved you. What else could have brought you to me and set you so firmly against Voldemort? What else could have placed you irrevocably in the role of the spy and spared you from tasks that would have damaged your soul beyond recognition?”  
  
The younger Severus was pacing now, his shaking hands punctuating his words when he spoke.  
  
“The second part…if not for Potter I could have been with her! I wanted…I wanted to see her before… before it happened… but not with Potter there!”  
  
“You must not jump to such conclusions, Severus. It is possible that the prophecy only refers to the fact that Lily never returned your feelings. Do you not agree that if she had, you would not have been so eager to serve the Dark Lord?”  
  
“The Dark Lord’s curse that binds…the mark…” Severus murmured.  
  
Dumbledore was silent and the younger Severus was still pacing furiously.“I would have tried… if I had known there was a chance…”  
  
“There was no chance, Severus,” said Dumbledore firmly. “She did not love you. You must see that! You had a part to play – the traitor, the spy! You will play it again when the Lord Voldemort returns. You could not have escaped.”  
  
“NO! No… she loved me once… she might have again…”  
  
Dumbledore shook his head sadly.“Perhaps you were not ready to hear this.”  
  
Severus had fallen back into his chair, fists still clenched, still fighting to control his emotions.  
  
“Not even you believe me!” he said viciously.“Lily Evans loved me! She was afraid… if it hadn’t been for Potter…”  
  
Dumbledore moved to stand behind the chair, looking down at the top of Severus’ bowed head.  
  
“Whatever Lily Evans may have felt, Lily Potter did not love you. She loved her husband and the boy that you are going to protect. She died for her son, Severus, and there was nothing you could have done to change that.”  
  
Severus sat silently for a few minutes, his face in his hands. The older Severus knew what was going on in his mind. He was imagining a world without James Potter – a perfect world. He was remembering every treasured moment with Lily, the ones that made him believe some part of her heart was his. He was imagining a world without prophecies and without Harry Potter.  
  
Finally, Severus stood up and faced Dumbledore.  
  
“If that is all, Headmaster,” he said.  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
“Go,” he said, his eyes not twinkling, but sad._  
  
The memory faded and Severus was once again alone in the office with Fawkes. The bird was still watching him, trilling gently. Severus scowled at the phoenix.  
  
“What do you want, bird?”  
  
Fawkes chirped indignantly and flew over to perch on Severus’ shoulder and nip at his robe.  
  
Severus needed to get out of the office and think.  
  
“Listen carefully,” he said to Fawkes. “I am going away for a little while today. I want you to watch over Miss Granger. If she should need me, come to me immediately!”  
  
Fawkes managed to look offended and nipped him harder. The bird had more facial expressions than some people Severus knew.  
  
“Pardon me if I have insulted your abilities,” said Severus sarcastically. “It is only for my own peace of mind that I speak aloud.”  
  
The phoenix always knew intuitively what Severus needed from him, but it seemed unwise not to put his request it into words for safe measure. Before leaving, Severus sent a message to Minerva and Madam Pomfrey, telling them that he would be gone for a few hours but that under no circumstances should they tell Hermione that he had left the castle.  
  
Severus snuck out to the gate. He was extremely lucky that no reporter was waiting for him today. He turned on the spot and thought of Spinner’s End.  
  
He arrived in the sitting room and began pacing. The house was not comfortable, but it was empty and quiet, and he needed to be away from Hermione in order to prove that the connection was dependent on physical proximity. If he was correct, it would not be more than two or three hours before she would need him. If he was wrong, she would never know he had gone, for his routine had become to see her in the mornings and to return in the evening with a book, leaving her alone for the rest of the day.  
  
His actions earlier that morning had been foolish in the extreme. He had taken her hands in his own, and encouraged by the intense warmth that resulted, had believed for a few moments that he could heal her that way. It had not worked, and Severus had heard Madam Pomfrey approaching just in time to drop Hermione’s hands.  
  
Severus shuddered at the thought of being caught in such a position. Hermione Granger was causing him to lose his mind.  
  
It had all started the day before, when the girl had confessed to accidentally saving his life. Severus had been immediately relieved. He had wondered from the beginning what motive she could have for her noble actions, but it was neither Gryffindor idiocy, nor a suicide attempt over an infatuation with Potter; it had been an innocent mistake.  
  
 _An innocent sacrifice._  
  
It was then that the words of the prophecy had burst into his thoughts and taunted him: _an innocent sacrifice… his mind’s equal… a traitor’s fate… a curse that binds._ Could it be that Dumbledore had been wrong and that the second prophecy was not about Lily at all?  
  
He had tried to convince himself that there was no mistake, and that the prophecy was undeniably about Lily. He had watched the memory three times immediately upon returning to his office after Granger's confession, unwilling to believe it could be so.  
  
 _Saved by a woman’s innocent sacrifice..._ the phrase had always seemed an odd way to describe what happened to Lily, but the prophecy as a whole had pointed so obviously to her that he had never questioned the wording. So firm was his belief in the prophecy, there had initially been no reason to wonder if it could be about Hermione. Now, he was not so sure.  
  
The word ‘innocent’ was in the prophecy twice, describing both the sacrifice and the woman. While Lily’s sacrifice was innocent of any selfish motivation, she had not been an innocent martyr, for she had denied the Dark Lord three times. She had known James Potter planned to fight him when they married, she had known Voldemort was hunting her family, had gone into hiding as a last resort, and had intentionally sacrificed her life for her son. She had been given a choice, and she had chosen to die. It was Hermione’s sacrifice that was truly innocent, for she had not even been the Dark Lord’s target. She had not intended to take the curse meant for Severus.  
  
Severus had listened to the prophecy three more times that day, pacing his office in thought each time before returning to the Pensieve.  
  
The next part said that the woman was his sworn enemy’s companion. He had sworn on many occasions that James Potter was his enemy and by their sixth year at Hogwarts Lily had become his enemy's companion, spending all of her time with Potter and his worshippers. Severus now had a sinking feeling that his childhood rival, vile though he was, may not count as a sworn enemy.  
  
Severus had sworn his allegiance to the Dark Lord, taken the mark, and sworn also to hate Voldemort's enemies, the greatest of them being Harry Potter... friend of Hermione Granger. They had been companions since arriving at Hogwarts, facing life-threatening peril together year after year.  
  
Severus had stood still in the middle of his office at last, concluding the inevitable and still actively rejecting the interpretation. Hermione could not be the woman of the prophecy. She was hardly a woman!  
  
Severus had stomped back over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out the Legilimency book that he had been reading to her in the evenings. He brushed a layer of imaginary dust off the cover and began flipping idly through it.  
  
He had always considered Lily his mind’s equal. She had been intelligent as well as creative and they had challenged one another academically, often as a sport. Lily’s potential for greatness had been lost the day she finally agreed to a date with Potter. First she had become popular, then she had become a wife, and soon after, a mother. She traded quiet nights in the library for a new social life and lightened her course load so that she could spend more time with Potter. Severus had long realized in retrospect that she must have been involved with the Order even then, certainly by their seventh year, planning to marry Potter and work for Dumbledore. She could have accomplished so much more with her brilliant mind...  
  
The ‘mind’s equal’ made much more sense with Hermione – not because she was his equal in intelligence, but more specifically because she was capable of Legilimency. Who else could communicate as they did, mind to mind, with ease and clarity? The answer was no one else in recorded history.  
  
Around the time he had started to accept the revelation that Hermione was indeed the woman in the prophecy, Severus’ thoughts had been interrupted by a crackling sound, followed by a _whoosh_ as McGonagall appeared in the fireplace.  
  
“I’m afraid I’m a bit late, Severus, do forgive me. My errands took longer than expected.”  
  
She had coughed and dusted off her robes.  
  
Severus had forgotten about the meeting she had requested with him at breakfast. He felt remarkably calm, despite the unwelcome interruption. He would deal with McGonagall, whom he noted was eyeing him suspiciously, and then get back to dissecting the prophecy.  
  
“Please, sit,” Severus had intoned, flicking his wand at a spot on the floor opposite his desk. A reasonably comfortable wooden chair appeared and he waited for McGonagall to take her seat before returning to his place behind the desk.  
  
“Severus,” she began in a tone that suggested she had a matter of business to discuss, but then she paused. “Is everything all right? You seem very peculiar at the moment.”  
  
Severus blinked once in annoyance. Must the woman waste his time?  
  
“I assure you, I am fine,” he said. “Surely you have not come here to inquire after my health?”  
  
McGonagall pursed her lips.  
  
“No,” she replied, and cleared her throat.  
  
“Severus, I believe the time has come to address this business with _The Prophet._ ”  
  
Severus leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.  
  
“Yes, it must be addressed,” he said. “I confess that after a week of poorly written ‘stories’ I am not in favor of surrender. They will soon ruin whatever reputation they have left with the nonsense. Perhaps in the future we will be spared the daily assault of ignorant rambling on subjects unrelated to the news.”  
  
He could see the anger flare in McGonagall’s eyes. They became steely.  
  
“It must come as a surprise to you, then, that the paper is indeed profiting from your name. The stories have gained surprising popularity and it is imperative that you negotiate with them!”  
  
“You cannot be serious!” said Severus, now leaning forward. “Even if the masses are lapping it up, it is no real threat – who would actually believe such rubbish?”  
  
“Not many,” she said, shaking her head. “Not enough of them to matter, anyway. The opinion of parents, and more importantly, the Board of Governors, is what you should be concerned about. At first, many supported your decision to keep silent, but there has been backlash. They wonder why you still refuse an interview and leave your reputation to the imagination of _The Daily Prophet!_ They want to know what you are hiding and why you have shut yourself away at Hogwarts when they want to welcome you into society.”  
  
At those words, Severus slammed his hand on the desk.  
  
“They want nothing of the sort!”  
  
He glared at McGonagall.  
  
“What they want is another Potter,” he spat at her. “They want another golden hero to tell them the world is going to be a wonderful, happy place now that ‘You-Know-Who’ is gone. Does it surprise you, Minerva, to find that I refuse to tell that lie?”  
  
He sat back in his chair again and McGonagall stood angrily.  
  
“Then do not tell it, but you must tell them something, preferably something that will convince the parents of eleven-year-old witches and wizards that they should allow their children to come to Hogwarts under the supervision of Severus Snape. Tell them something that will convince the returning students that they should, in fact, return! As of now, the paper has succeeded in its aim, which is undoubtedly to expose you as a secretive, single-minded recluse with questionable motives.”  
  
McGonagall sighed and sat down again.  
  
“Severus, I know you will do well as Headmaster, but you need the public’s support, especially now, and you’ve got a perfect opportunity to win it. It is a tedious game, but one you are certainly capable of playing. Give an interview, manipulate the public in whatever way you see fit, but please, do something! If you do not address the situation soon every witch and wizard with a semi-functioning mind will begin to suspect that you are either a fool or insane.”  
  
She stood once more, preparing to go.  
  
“Your efforts for Miss Granger are admirable, Severus, but you have other responsibilities now. You must not use her as an excuse to forget them. Will you let me know when you decide on a course of action? I would like to know about it before it makes the front page.”  
  
“I will endeavor to notify you in a timely manner,” Severus replied coolly. He stood as well, waiting for her to leave. She frowned as she stared at him.  
  
“Are you quite sure you are not unwell?”  
  
Severus nodded curtly. She stared, obviously not convinced.  
  
“Thank you for your concern,” Severus had said, with much less sarcasm than he had intended. It had sounded almost sincere.  
  
“Yes, well,” said McGonagall. “I must be going. I’ve promised to have lunch in London with my niece.”  
  
She turned to go.  
  
“Good day, Severus.”  
  
“And to you, Minerva,” he said placidly, willing her to step over the threshold and leave him in peace. When she was gone he slumped in his chair.  
  
Severus had found it impossible to concentrate in his office. He had roamed the halls for a while with a fuzzy head, wondering what he was going to do about the press, and why someone with his intelligence would have so much trouble making a simple decision. He ate a quick lunch, thankfully alone, and returned to the Pensieve.  
  
Severus had listened to the prophecy once more, and then clumsily located a piece of parchment and quill, on which he wrote the entire prophecy before reading the last part aloud in a hoarse whisper.  
  
 _“… and through love for her he will thwart his master, but if he be not with her he will be condemned to a traitor’s fate… and only if she returns his love can he escape the Dark Lord’s curse that binds… the one the Dark Lord trusts will be redeemed by an innocent woman…”_  
  
It was the last part of the prophecy that had tormented Severus upon hearing it for the first time. Perhaps if James Potter had never been born, Severus might have escaped the Dark Lord. The prophecy had vindicated both his hatred of James and his love of Lily. Lily had become more than a love lost, a friend mourned, and his deepest regret; she had become his savior and he had lived to repay her, to make her sacrifice worthwhile. He had thwarted his master for Lily.  
  
It was a terrible joke to replace Lily with Hermione Granger. He did not love the girl! He felt that he should help her, and he sometimes enjoyed her company, but he most certainly did not love her – the irritating know-it-all, he reminded himself, the brain that precious Potter did not possess. Even if he did love her, it could not cause him to ‘thwart his master’. Voldemort was destroyed and could no longer be thwarted.  
  
With that, Severus had stood up from his desk too quickly. His vision became light and misty and he sat back down. Fawkes regarded him curiously from what seemed like a great distance on his perch.  
  
A sudden thought struck Severus. The prophecy did not say anything about the woman’s fate. What if the woman was Hermione? If he escaped the ‘curse that binds’ he would no longer be tied to her. Would she recover, or would she become a living corpse, suffering the ‘traitor’s fate’, and might she even die? She would return his love only to sacrifice herself again. He imagined trying to convince the rest of the world that despite all appearances, Hermione Granger had not died. He imagined explaining that it only seemed that she was dead because she loved him and had somehow set him free from the curse that bound them together. He imagined telling them that he knew she was alive because he was able to communicate with her through Legilimency, a mythological and feared branch of Dark Magic. Severus mentally shook himself. He was losing his mind, fabricating stories wilder than anything _The Prophet_ had come up with.  
  
Determined to return to business as usual, Severus had spent several hours reading, a welcome distraction from his thoughts. That evening, he had taken the Legilimency book to Hermione with the intention of reading it, but he had not even opened it. Hearing her voice her blind faith in his character had been enough to make him want to run from the room. She had said he was kind. Severus knew that he was neither kind, nor generous, nor caring.  
  
It was at that moment that Severus had realized how a lonely, frightened girl whose friends forgot her might be led to believe that she loved someone like him. He had seen it in her mind and felt it in her thoughts; she liked the man she imagined he was. She cared about that man, the one who read to her and promised to help her.  
  
It would be too easy to play the part. He could be the misunderstood hero, languishing at Hogwarts, devoted to saving the young woman who gave her life for him. Whatever romantic notions she had about his character had no doubt been planted there by the preposterous articles she had been hearing lately. It would be easy to pay her more attention, listen to her hopes and dreams, teach her whatever subject she was most curious about, and convince her that his company was preferable to her juvenile visitors. He could let her into his mind, help her practice Legilimency, and in doing so show her that she was trusted. It would be easy to make her love him and the idea had been perversely attractive to him as he looked down at her still form on the bed.  
  
“You are too trusting,” he had admonished her.  
  
Disgusted with himself, Severus had left. He wanted to play the game. He wanted to know if he could make her love him. If the prophecy was about Hermione, though, the game would end when he succeeded and she became as good as dead. Severus did not know if that outcome was a reasonable interpretation of the prophecy – he did not even know if the prophecy was truly about the girl! He had left that night without reading to her, but promised that he would not abandon her.  
  
Severus had intended to go to bed early that night, his eyelids heavy and his body refusing to move with speed or grace as he performed his nightly routine, but once he fell into bed he had become restless. He seemed to sleep for mere minutes at a time, waking again and again tangled in his bedclothes. No position was comfortable and his head began to ache. He had rolled onto his back, staring into the blackness above him, desperate for sleep to put him out of his misery.  
  
Eventually his eyelids had fallen shut and sleep had descended. Severus had dreamed of Lily when they were friends. She was humming beside him in Potions as she stirred, making his heart stop with her warm smile, standing just a little too close for comfort, smirking because she knew an answer he didn’t. Then, she was kissing Potter, holding a rounded belly, falling to the ground in a flash of green light…  
  
Severus had cried out and sat up. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand and lit the lamp that sat on it. Opening the shallow drawer underneath, he had found it – Lily’s picture. He cried, shuddering and choking in an attempt to hold the sobs back. Severus did not cry often, and from the age of twelve on there had only been one person who could reduce him to tears. Lily. His headache worsened and he pressed his hands to either side of his head miserably.  
  
She had loved him. Severus had always believed that she had loved him. He had lost so much when he lost her. With the prophecy, Dumbledore had tried to convince him that it was not true, but he had always known, and kept the proof hidden in the deepest, safest part of his memory. Nobody else would ever know the truth, for lovely Lily was too good for someone like Severus Snape. Most people had conveniently forgotten that she had once been his only friend. After all, that was before she dated James Potter, and who had cared about her before that?  
  
Potter never forget about Lily's friendship with Severus, and neither did the rest of his Gryffindor friends, but the school as a whole had never realized that the beautiful, vivacious redhead on Potter’s arm was the same girl who used to sit by the lake with a skinny Slytherin boy.  
  
He had closed his eyes and called up one of his favorite memories: the last day of summer vacation before his second year at Hogwarts. He and Lily were lying on their backs in the grass, she with her arms splayed out above her head and her eyes closed. He was stiff and self-conscious, arms locked to his sides, but with his head turned so that he could observe her. The light was honey-warm and the breeze played with the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail. The next day they would be at Hogwarts, and while he had waited all summer for that day, he knew that they could not be best friends at school. They were in different houses, on opposite sides of a long-standing rivalry that, growing up in the Muggle world, they did not understand. Severus would enjoy the memory of that serene moment for many years to come, often wondering if it was at that point that he had begun to lose her.  
  
Severus had fallen asleep again, almost able to feel the warmth of the summer sun. The sun took over his dream, a white disc in a clear blue sky that warmed him and grew brighter and brighter, until in a brilliant flash he was back in the final battle, the recurring dream.  
  
 _He was hit by the curse, like a sharp, cold dagger in his side. Hermione jumped in front of him and the sight of her filled him with warmth again. Everything in his vision became bright once more and suddenly she was an angel of pearly, shimmering light. Her eyes convicted him, searched him, and knew him as no one else could. He was sorry that she had done it. He was angry that he could not stop her, and he was filled with hatred for the Dark Lord. He was finally able to hate his master without disguise, and he let the emotion overtake his thoughts, directing them at Voldemort, who triumphed in the distance. His vision faded to white and Hermione’s face began to fade with it, but her eyes lingered on him. He could not ignore her eyes searching him, asking him if her sacrifice had been in vain._  
  
Severus had slept for a few hours, waking very early in the morning. He had gone immediately to see Hermione, as if she might have disappeared overnight. She still lay peacefully in her bed, looking almost as lovely in the morning light as she had in his dream. She was foolish to trust him, just a silly girl, he had told himself, but he could no longer deny that he loved her for it.  
  
She thought he was a good man, and while Severus knew that it was not true, he was amazed to find that he wanted it to be. He wanted to be the sort of person Hermione Granger would save.  
  
A loud screech pulled Severus out of his long reverie and back to the dark sitting room at Spinner's End. He was standing by the curtained window with his arms folded. Fawkes had arrived to signal Hermione’s decline. Severus checked the time – it had only been an hour and a half since he left the castle.


	18. The Test

Hermione tried in vain not to think of Ron anymore. Ginny had left for the day, and at the moment her only distraction was the ever-hovering Madam Pomfrey, who kept popping in the room to see if Dumbledore's portrait was available to chat.  
  
Though she had tried valiantly at first to keep up her initial attitude of detached acceptance, she found she was currently failing the endeavor. Now that Ginny had confirmed what she suspected about Ron and Padma, Hermione was newly heartbroken and consequently ashamed by it. She despised girls who made fools of themselves over boys.  
  
Hermione had been blind to Ron’s faults, forgiving him for often being lazy, insensitive, and selfish, and overlooking the fact that he had never quite treated her with the same respect that he did Harry. He had used her to get grades he did not deserve, and he had been jealous when she talked to other guys, yet he had never asked her out himself.  
  
At first, Hermione had told herself that he was just too awkward and immature to ask her out, and later that he was afraid of ruining their friendship. It was a lie. He had simply not liked her very much, though he must have thought that she would always be there waiting for him if he ever changed his mind.  
  
Hermione regretted that she had wasted so much time on Ron. She was especially sorry for all the essays she had ‘helped’ him write, and she would forever hold herself responsible for everything that Ron had not learned in school.  
  
Hermione wallowed in her memories of Ron, alternately dwelling on their many fights, his nauseating displays with Lavender, and the numerous stolen moments that had kept her crush alive. Every other memory featured Ron looking into her eyes, pulling her into his warm, bone-crushing embrace, sitting as close to her as he dared in Harry's presence, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, planting an unexpected kiss on her neck outside the bathroom at The Burrow, sharing a conspiratorial look as they snuck out of the tent past a sleeping Harry... but the memories were punctuated by his sullen features as he sulked, an angry grimace after an argument, his smug satisfaction after snogging Lavender right in front of her for the twentieth time, and the jealous fight he started just before he ran away, when she told him they must stop messing around in order to keep clear heads, keep Harry safe, and find the rest of the Horcruxes before it was too late.  
  
It was just after she had realized the Sword of Gryffindor was the key to the destruction of the Horcruxes that she knew that being so close, so constantly to Ron was distracting her to the point of endangering their lives and their mission. It should not have taken her so long to put it all together. When she had attempted to discuss her concerns, and asked him to wait until they were in a better situation to start a relationship, he had been furious.  
  
The coldness that began to seep into her body went unnoticed until Hermione heard a familiar squawk. Fawkes landed on the bed beside her and began trilling gently, cocking his head to look her in the eye.  
  
 _Hello, Fawkes,_ she thought, but the bird gave no indication that he could hear her. He had settled down on the bed and was resting his head on her icy hand. Hermione was glad that Madam Pomfrey had just checked on her and might not be back for a while. It would only make Hermione more anxious to have Pomfrey fussing over her again. Fawkes’ presence was much more comforting.  
  
 _Snape must be away,_ thought Hermione. It had to be the first time he had left the castle without telling her, and Hermione was certain that he was testing the connection. However, it was strange that Fawkes had come to her this time. What if Snape was in trouble? Surely the phoenix would alert someone if that was the case.  
  
Hermione did not have time to worry, because Snape walked into the room minutes later. He came immediately to the bed and put a hand on her arm. Fawkes scrambled up and perched on Snape’s shoulder, causing him to wince slightly.  
  
“You are cold, Miss Granger,” he said. He had not moved his hand and his touch began to make the spot painfully warm.  
  
 _You left,_ she thought with a hint of accusation.  
  
 _Yes,_ he thought back, staring down at her with an intensity that rivaled the tingling warmth in her arm.  
  
 _Could you – stop?_  
  
The feeling produced by the contrast between the stone cold of her body and the heat from his hand was like the most intense case of pins and needles Hermione could imagine. Snape jerked his hand away as if he had been stung.  
  
 _Sorry,_ she thought. _It’s just – such a shock – when the rest of my body is still so cold._  
  
Snape did not reply, and Hermione was reminded of his strange behavior earlier that morning.  
  
 _Are you – okay?_  
  
Snape blinked in response to her question.  
  
“Certainly, Miss Granger – it is you who are unwell.”  
  
 _I feel better already,_ she thought, and it was true. She could feel the cold fading.  
  
Snape seemed about to say something when a muffled conversation from the hallway reached their ears. Fawkes dismounted from Snape’s shoulder and disappeared in a burst of flame.  
  
“I know he’s here!”  
  
“Don’t be silly! You can’t possibly know that.”  
  
“I can sense it.”  
  
“And to think, everybody says I’m the crazy one.”  
  
Luna Lovegood appeared in the doorway, dragging Neville in by the hand. Snape had already turned to glare at them, and Neville immediately shrank two inches and stared at the floor.  
  
“Miss Granger is not seeing visitors at this time,” said Snape harshly. “Come back tomorrow.”  
  
 _No, please let them stay,_ thought Hermione. _I want them to stay._  
  
Snape glared at Hermione.  
  
 _You are not yet recovered._  
  
 _Let them stay,_ Hermione insisted. _Just don't go far, and I will be fine._  
  
Luna took advantage of Snape’s silence and pulled Neville farther into the room.  
  
“Professor Snape,” she said. “We can’t come back tomorrow, as we will be searching for red-spotted pixie moths with Professor Mertwood from The Magical Creatures Institute.”  
  
Snape seemed surprised by her boldness, but still managed to sneer at her.  
  
“Martin Mertwood is an addled old fraud, and has been retired for thirty years. Furthermore, before becoming extinct, the red-spotted pixie moth was found only in Australia.”  
  
Luna was unfazed. She smiled slightly.  
  
“Yes, that's what most people would say,” she said, “but Professor Mertwood photographed a red-spotted moth only two months ago, and he’s determined to find another. You see, he’s a good friend of my father, and we’re all going to Australia to help him! So, we really can’t come back tomorrow.”  
  
 _Please._  
  
Snape folded his arms, still glaring at Luna and Neville.  
  
“Ten minutes.”  
  
Luna beamed.  
  
“Thank you, Professor Snape.”  
  
Snape swooped out of the room and Neville sighed in relief.  
  
“How can you talk to him like that, Luna?”  
  
“What do you mean, Nevvie?”  
  
“No, Luna! I hate that name! Hermione, you must forget you ever heard it!”  
  
Luna had dropped Neville’s hand and was now uncomfortably close to Hermione’s face.  
  
“Okay, Neville,” said Luna airily. She poked Hermione’s arm.  
  
“What’d you do that for? I bet she doesn’t like people poking her.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” said Luna. “Father said that you were probably just like a statue and I told him that he was wrong, but I had to be sure.”  
  
Neville moved to stand behind Luna.  
  
“I guess you’ve heard about the articles they’re writing about you and Snape,” he said apologetically.  
  
“Some of them are interesting,” Luna admitted. “Although, they are rather ridiculous.”  
  
“They’re creepy,” said Neville. “It’s Snape.”  
  
“He’s not creepy,” said Luna. “You shouldn’t be scared of him anymore.”  
  
“I’m not _scared_ of him,” said Neville. “I just don’t like him and he _hates_ me. So I think I can avoid him if I want.”  
  
“Oh, Hermione!” said Luna suddenly. “I have to tell you that Ron and Padma seem to have started dating lately. I hope you are not very upset. I know that you liked him for years –”  
  
“Merlin, Luna!”  
  
“ – but I always thought you were too smart to go out with a Quidditch player. It is strange that it’s only Quidditch players you’ve ever dated…”  
  
“Hey, you’re right,” said Neville, sounding surprised. “She’s right, Hermione. Forget about the Quidditch players.”  
  
Luna giggled and turned to look at Neville.  
  
“Of course I’m right, Nevvie.”  
  
Neville groaned.  
  
“Please, don’t call me that when other people might hear.”  
  
Luna’s giggle was high-pitched and uninhibited, and Hermione imagined that it was just the sort of laugh that would irritate Snape. He had appeared again, a large black shape in the doorway.  
  
 _Must she cackle like a hyena?_  
  
 _It’s not that bad,_ thought Hermione. _Be nice!_  
  
 _I am not nice, Granger._  
  
He had been looking at Hermione, but now he turned his attention to her visitors.  
  
“It has been fifteen minutes, Miss Lovegood.”  
  
Luna spun around and smiled at him.  
  
“Yes, it has! I thought you might have forgotten about us after all. Well… goodbye, Hermione, we’re leaving for Australia this evening. I’ll send some pictures of the pixie moths, and perhaps Professor Snape will show them to you.”  
  
Snape only glared at the young couple as they left and Neville mumbled a farewell.  
  
“Longbottom has no mind of his own.”  
  
Hermione decided not to comment on that remark. She was not in the mood to argue. He would probably tell her that it was all her fault Neville could not think for himself, because she had done so much thinking for him in class.  
  
 _I hope they send pictures,_ thought Hermione, knowing it would nettle him. _When, exactly, did the red-spotted pixie moth become extinct?_  
  
Snape smirked.  
  
“Approximately forty years ago, Miss Granger.”  
  
Hermione wondered how Neville felt about the excursion, but more significantly, how he and Luna had finally become an item.  
  
 _I think I’ve heard of them before. They were used in potions, weren't they?_  
  
It would explain how Snape knew so much about them.  
  
“The wings were ground into a fine powder, which was extremely effective in pain relief potions –”  
  
 _And it was because of the red spots that it was so effective! The red is produced by the interaction of pixie magic and the type of leaves they eat –_  
  
“Ah. It seems you’ve already memorized the information. Do you ask such questions only to flaunt your knowledge?”  
  
 _No! I am not – I mean, I do not – flaunt my knowledge!_  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow and sent Hermione a memory of her younger self raising her hand and bouncing in her seat next to a cauldron and copious notes, a determined expression on her face that turned to one of haughty annoyance when another student was called and answered incorrectly. She mentally cringed.  
  
 _Okay, maybe I did – at times – appear – to be showing off in class – but that’s not what I’m doing now! I just remembered reading about those moths somewhere…_  
  
But Hermione could not remember when she had read about the red spotted pixie moth, which annoyed her more than Snape accusing her of showing off.  
  
“I will leave you to rest,” said Snape. “You are still weak.”  
  
 _Now that you’re back I’ll be fine,_ Hermione reminded him.  
  
“Even so,” he said. “You would benefit from a few quiet hours.”  
  
 _Fine, but –_  
  
Hermione hesitated, suddenly afraid to ask the question that was on her mind.  
  
“Yes, Granger?”  
  
 _I was wondering …I mean… well, you are nearly finished with the book._  
  
She waited for him to answer the unspoken question.  
  
“I will return after dinner... as usual. I expect to find you well-rested and recovered, Miss Granger.”  
  
He would be back with the book, Hermione was certain.  
  
 _Thank you,_ she said.  
  
He only nodded, and reached down to close her eyes before he left. Hermione quickly drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and woke hours later to discover that Snape was sitting by her bed, lifting her eyelids with cool fingertips.  
  
 _Hello,_ she said sleepily.  
  
“Granger,” he greeted her.  
  
 _I rested,_ she said unnecessarily.  
  
“Well done, Granger. It seems you possess the ability to follow instructions. Normally I would not reward such a small accomplishment, but since I was the cause of your – weakened state – I will make an exception.”  
  
He pulled out the Legilimency book and found his place. It was very near the end, and Hermione hoped that he would finish it that evening. The chapter was about the subtle ways an expert Legilimens could infiltrate a person’s mind.  
  
 _Emotions are extremely easy to sense. Even at a moderate distance, a skilled Legilimens can sense emotions, especially fear and anger. Using emotions to break into a mind is the simplest method of infiltration. However, to enter undetected the Legilimens must ease into the thoughts, immediately searching for a more tenable hold on the mind than the emotions found on the surface. It is all too easy to be pulled along by the violent, unstable nature of emotions and be tossed too quickly into the mind, making one’s presence known immediately. It will not do to grasp at the emotions themselves, nor at the thoughts tied to them. Instead, use emotions as a guide and then slip past them, carefully searching for memories on the periphery, moments from the recent past, a dream from the night before, a stranger’s face in a crowd…_  
  
Since Snape had begun reading the book to her, Hermione's appreciation of his careful communication with her grew. He never pried in to her private thoughts and never tried to hide his presence from her. Now that she was experienced with Legilimency, she did not think that he would be able to infiltrate her mind unnoticed. She would recognize him immediately.  
  
 _…and when the subject is not emotional, but guarded, or even when they are expecting a mental attack, the true Legilimens may still find a way into their mind. Each mind will require a different strategy. Each mind has its own weaknesses and strengths. That is why the Legilimens must get close to the target and begin to understand the workings of that specific mind before attempting undetected infiltration._  
  
Hermione wondered just how skilled of a Legilimens Snape was. She wondered just how much practice he had at developing strategies to infiltrate the mind. She did not like to imagine how he might have practiced them. He must also be a superb Occlumens – the fact that he was still alive proved it. Hermione wondered if Voldemort had ever had the patience to use subtle Legilimency. Voldemort had an automatic ‘in’ to Harry’s mind, and the visions had been occasionally deceptive, but certainly not subtle.  
  
“Miss Granger,” said Snape suddenly, startling Hermione. “If the material is disturbing to you, perhaps it is better to stop here.”  
  
 _What do you mean? I’m perfectly fine!_  
  
Snape made an impatient noise and snapped the book shut.  
  
 _Perhaps you would like to tell my why my mind was assaulted by an image of the Dark Lord just now. You are generally good about keeping your thoughts to yourself, which suggests that you are upset and not, in fact, ‘fine’._  
  
Hermione was astounded and embarrassed that she had leaked her musings into Snape’s mind.  
  
 _I am not upset,_ she said. _I suppose I just let my thoughts get away from me._  
  
 _You were thinking about the Dark Lord. Care to explain?_ he prompted.  
  
 _Yes,_ Hermione sighed. _I was thinking about Voldemort, but I was not upset. Surely, you would have noticed if I was – emotional. If I could not keep my thoughts from you, then certainly the emotions would have escaped as well._  
  
Snape considered this for a moment, but was not willing to let it go.  
  
 _Why were you thinking of the Dark Lord?_  
  
Hermione hesitated. He was strangely determined to know what she had been thinking.  
  
 _Surely it is not surprising that I would think of him, since I’ve heard that he was a powerful and ruthless Legilimens, and you are currently reading a book on the subject._  
  
Snape did not reply, and seemed to expect her to continue. She sighed mentally.  
  
 _I was just – wondering – whether Voldemort was ever a truly skilled Legilimens. I would not think he would have bothered to take the time to be subtle._  
  
Snape shifted slightly in his chair, and then in one movement he was seated on the bed looking directly into her eyes, perhaps to better sense if she was lying.  
  
 _You would be correct,_ he said. _Voldemort preferred power over subtlety. He did not bend minds so much as crush them._  
  
Hermione hesitated again, hoping that he would not get angry when the conversation became personal.  
  
 _Is that how you fooled him – making him think that you were like him, that you wanted power? If he had really known you, he would have found out the truth._  
  
 _Much of what the Dark Lord knew about me was the truth, Granger._  
  
Hermione was not sure what to say, but she wanted more than that cryptic answer.  
  
 _But he underestimated you. If he had even suspected what you were capable of... surely you would not be alive right now._  
  
Snape had folded his arms again, which he did whenever he was annoyed.  
  
 _No, Granger. If not for you I would not be alive. The Dark Lord did find out what I was capable of and he tried to curse me to death – a slow, cold, soul-starving death. I would be as good as dead at this moment if you had not fallen in front of me._  
  
 _I did not fall, I jumped! You make it sound like I tripped on my shoelace!_  
  
Snape pressed his lips together, and Hermione realized that he was amused by her comment.  
  
 _And anyway,_ she thought, _I wasn’t finished – don’t try to distract me._  
  
 _By all means, continue._  
  
Snape was still looking directly into her eyes.  
  
 _Well, when my poor thoughts ‘assaulted’ you earlier, I was actually thinking of you more than Voldemort._  
  
Snape waited for her to continue, and she knew he was curious.  
  
 _I was thinking that you must be a truly incredible Occlumens, because you fooled him, and also a great Legilimens because of your subtlety._  
  
Another short silence and Snape spoke.  
  
“You realize, Granger, that outside of dark circles, it is not – desirable – to be known as a great Legilimens.”  
  
 _I know – but you use it the way the book talks about – with subtlety and true skill. Besides, I am proof that Legilimency can be a good thing. You’re helping me._  
  
 _And Miss Granger, how do you imagine that I came to be so – skilled?_  
  
There was a dangerous edge in Snape’s thoughts that Hermione did not like. She infused her thoughts with a bit of playfulness in hopes of lightening the mood.  
  
 _Well,_ she thought, _I imagine that either you are so good at it that I never notice you sneaking around in my head, or you have the restraint to give me space and still listen to me. Perhaps it is both, and I will never know!_  
  
Snape still sat on the bed with his arms folded, but now he was looking at the rose window.  
  
 _I’m sorry,_ said Hermione. _I didn’t mean to imply – that is, of course I don’t think you’re doing that – I trust you._  
  
He turned back to look at her, and she saw something unfamiliar in his eyes before he shut her out of his mind and they became like hard, black glass.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
Snape was out of the room before Hermione could think of a response. She was not even sure what ‘don’t’ meant. Don’t be impressed by Legilimency? Don’t compare him to Voldemort? Don’t trust him? Hermione did not know what had come over her, to say such things to Professor Snape.  
  
The man was still a mystery to her, and yet she was the only person in the world who could hear his thoughts. His mind was always occluded, of course. She still did not know much more about him than she had right after the battle. The only thing she was sure of was that he was not as dangerous, nor as unpleasant, as he considered himself to be.  
  
Hermione wanted to know more about Severus Snape. Like the rest of the wizarding world, she wanted to know who he really was. She felt like she had been cheated for seven years while he made everyone think that he was a nasty, vicious dungeon-bat. He had been playing a part, utterly alone; with the possible exception of Dumbledore, nobody could be allowed to know that it was an act.  
  
Hermione wondered how close Snape had been to Dumbledore. He had been forced to kill the only person who knew the truth about him. Even though Hermione knew that Dumbledore would have had it no other way, it still sickened her to imagine Snape casting the Death Curse on the former headmaster, uttering the fatal words with conviction and force.  
  
It was a long time before Hermione was able to fall asleep again. This time she began to dream that she was lying in her bed at home. She could hear her mother in the kitchen making breakfast. Her father had the news on, listening to the weather report. Then, there was a knock on her bedroom door. It was her father calling her name, but it was a whisper and his voice was all wrong. He must have a cold.  
  
“Coming, Dad,” she said, sleepily rolling over, but she was twisted in her sheets and could not get up. Her arms were pinned to her sides and she struggled in vain to free them. Finally, she was able to slip one arm out. Her father called her name again, his voice cracking.  
  
“Coming,” she said again, not wanting to admit defeat and ask for help getting out of her bedclothes like a small child. She could now hear bacon frying, the grease sizzling. Taking a deep breath, she began to work her other arm free, grimacing as her shoulder popped loudly. She was successful at last and she rolled onto her back, tugging at the sheets that held her body and legs hostage. Her arms were heavy, and it felt like she was moving in slow motion.  
  
 _I hate dreams like this,_ thought Hermione, and it occurred to her that it was a very strange thought to have in a dream. She stopped struggling for a moment and closed her eyes.  
  
 _I want to wake up. Please wake up,_ she told herself. Nothing happened. Hermione sighed loudly and used her arms to wrench her body up into a sitting position. Then, she opened her eyes again and found that she was blind. Everything was black, and she could no longer hear the bacon or the news anchor’s cheery voice coming from down the hall.  
  
Faint shapes began to appear out of the darkness, though they did not belong to her bedroom. Hermione turned her head to the right with a loud crack, and found that she was staring at the rose window in Hogwarts infirmary. It was a dark, cloudy night.  
  
Hermione looked dumbly down at her legs trapped in white bed sheets that glowed faintly in what little moonlight came in through the window. She held her hands in front of her, waved them, pinched her arms, and even slapped her own face. She was _awake_.  
  
She was sitting in her bed, in the infirmary, awake, rolled up in her bedclothes, her face stinging from where she had just slapped it.  
  
Hermione lay back down and rolled twice to her left, freeing her legs. She pushed herself back up and swung her feet over the side of the bed and down until they touched the cold stone floor.  
  
She slid off the bed, hoping that her legs would support her weight. She took one step forward, then another, holding her hands in front of her. Shuffling over to the rose window, she stared numbly out at the rolling clouds that hid the moon. Something was wrong. She was nearly convinced that she was actually standing, walking and touching the cool glass in front of her, but the sense of foreboding she felt might soon crush her. She had to find Snape.  
  
Hermione pulled a blanket off of her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, shivering even though she was not cold. She made her way to the door, but hesitated as she reached for the latch. She did not have her wand, and she did not want to leave the room without it. She searched everywhere but could not find it, and she could not remember anyone mentioning where it was. Perhaps it had been broken or stolen in battle.  
  
Back at the door, with her hand on the latch, Hermione froze. She had an idea.  
  
“Help!” she whispered hoarsely. “If there’s a house-elf that can hear me, please come help me!”  
  
Nobody came and she leaned against the door for support.  
  
“Hogwarts elf! I need a Hogwarts elf!” Hermione was close to tears.  
  
“Winky!” she gasped. “Winky! Oh, I hope you’re still alive! Winky, I know you don’t answer to me but please come!”  
  
There was a crack that reverberated painfully in the small room and suddenly a rather large house-elf, or else a very small something else, stood in front of her. Hermione nearly shrieked in shock.  
  
“Who – who are you?” she asked, blinking furiously in an effort to make out its features. She could tell it was a house-elf by its ears.  
  
“It is Truno, Miss Hermione,” it said in a gravely voice.  
  
“Oh! Truno! I remember you now,” she said, a bit hysterically, hoping that Truno was really a house-elf. “Why are you here and not Winky?”  
  
“Winky say she is not liking you, Miss,” said Truno apologetically. “She is not wanting to come all the way up here for the girl who make elf clothes. She ask Truno to come instead.”  
  
“Oh,” said Hermione, feeling truly hurt that Winky would not help her.  
  
“But Miss should not be feelin’ bad about what Winky say,” said Truno. “Winky still be half asleep when she say it. Truno decide that Winky need rest, ‘cus of the lilfie that be coming.”  
  
“Lilfie?” wondered Hermione. “What is that?”  
  
“Miss, is like a baby, only is house-elf.”  
  
“Oh!” said Hermione. “Winky is pregnant!”  
  
“You could be saying that!” exclaimed Truno proudly, leaving Hermione in no doubt as to who the father was.  
  
“Well, that’s – that’s great Truno. Er – so the reason I called you was –”  
  
“Miss need help,” said Truno patiently.  
  
“Yes,” said Hermione. “I need you to get Professor Snape for me immediately.”  
  
Truno frowned.  
  
“He is not a nice wizard, Miss. He be very angry if Truno be waken’ him up.”  
  
Hermione was briefly amazed that Truno had not popped off to do her bidding as soon the words left her mouth.  
  
“Well, yes, I realize that he might be – angry – at first, but it’s very, very important. You see, I have been sick. I’m sure you remember. He’s been taking care of me and I need to see him right now.”  
  
“Truno will go,” said the elf. “And will say Miss looks better now.”  
  
He disappeared and Hermione slid to the floor in relief. She realized that her hands were shaking. She wrapped her blanket tightly around her shoulders and waited.  
  
A few minutes passed before Truno returned.  
  
“Miss!” Truno grabbed her hand. “Come, now!”  
  
With that, they Apparated. Hermione could tell her mouth was open in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. They arrived in another very dark room, Hermione falling to the floor. She was very glad to be in one piece. She stood unsteadily and looked around. Truno was behind her, and he grabbed her arm again.  
  
“Over here,” he said, and guided her to a bed covered in dark fabric except for a ribbon of white where the sheets were turned over. Trembling, she drew closer, knowing whose unmoving form must be lying in front of her. Sure enough, she peered at the face of Severus Snape as he slept, his pale skin almost glowing in the dark, obscured only by the few strands of limp dark hair that fell across his sharp features.  
  
“Truno!” she whispered. “Why didn’t you wake him?”  
  
“Truno tried, Miss!”  
  
“Okay... all right. Truno, how about you go back to sleep and I’ll call again if I need you?”  
  
Truno nodded and left with another loud crack that amazingly did not wake Snape. He was lying on his back, his nose sticking in the air, breathing regularly. He was breathing. Hermione sighed in relief. Perhaps he was just a heavy sleeper, or perhaps Truno had not tried very hard to wake him.  
  
“Professor?”  
  
Hermione’s voice cracked. Snape did not stir. She licked her dry, painful lips and tried again.  
  
“Professor Snape? Wake up! Please wake up!”  
  
But Snape would not wake. Hermione’s feeling of dread intensified. She reached a hand out, found his shoulder under the blankets, and shook it, prepared to jerk her arm back in case he woke and attacked her.  
  
“Hello! Professor? Professor Snape… Severus!”  
  
Hermione slid her hand off of his shoulder. She pushed the blankets back and found his hand underneath. She covered the back of Snape’s hand with her own, feeling intense heat rise with the contact.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. She searched for his familiar presence.  
  
 _Professor? Can you hear me? Are you there?_  
  
Hermione could not sense him at all. The room felt empty. She climbed onto the bed and leaned over him, hoping the proximity would help. She attempted to open his eyes using magic, as he had done so many times for her, happily surprised when a faint cool light welled up under her fingertips even without a wand to aid her.  
  
Desperately, she stared into his eyes, searching for consciousness in his frozen stare.  
  
 _I know you’re there,_ she thought hopefully.  
  
 _I’m so sorry._ “I’m so sorry!”  
  
Hermione realized that she was saying it out loud as well, and realized it might be a better strategy if she wanted him to hear her.  
  
“I’m trying, but I can’t hear you! Please, keep thinking to me, as loudly as you can!”  
  
Hermione tried for what seemed like hours, but she was not able to connect with his mind. She had failed.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered once more, tears beginning to run down her cheeks.  
  
She rolled off the bed and lay on the floor, physically and mentally exhausted. The tears refused to stop. She had been so sure that she understood Legilimency, but even after sharing a mind connection with Snape for weeks she had failed to learn anything! He was trapped just as Voldemort had planned. Eventually, Hermione’s body gave in to a blessed, dreamless sleep.


	19. The Occlumens

Severus did not know what had caused the switch, but he was grimly determined to accept his fate. Hermione was free, and he intended to keep it that way. He had not yet taken any actions that should have affected the curse, but it had moved on to its intended victim at last. Whether it was by luck, fate, or the strength of Severus' will, it did not matter. He would find a way to keep her safe.  
  
The day before, when Hermione had begged him to allow Lovegood and Longbottom to visit, Severus had given in and returned briefly to his office.  
  
“Well done, bird,” he had said to Fawkes, settling into his chair. Thanks to the phoenix he had returned to Hermione as soon as she needed him and her recovery period would be short.  
  
The prophecy had driven him mad. The world was off-kilter and he could not get his bearings. It was maddening to carry on as usual when he felt like he had been turned inside out.  
  
He was determined not to allow the prophecy to distract him from his responsibilities. There was _The Prophet_ to deal with, and he must satisfy the Ministry, pacify McGonagall, and find a teacher for the Defense position. He would have to make a speech at the ceremony the Ministry had planned. That would satisfy _The Prophet_ for a while, and perhaps he would consent to an interview afterward. That would satisfy McGonagall.  
  
Though he had hardly spent five minutes thinking about his duties, the prophecy once again dominated his thoughts. Would it be the key to helping Hermione, or would it be her death sentence? Would she somehow sacrifice herself again to free him?  
  
He had known since the thought first entered his mind that he would never allow her to do it, neither by accident nor by choice.  
  
Severus spent too much time pacing his office in thought, accidentally giving Lovegood and Longbottom more than their allotted time with Hermione before he returned to the infirmary. She seemed to be completely recovered, but he instructed her to rest anyway.  
  
He had planned to read to her later that evening, though he knew that he should not. To be safe, he could not allow her feelings for him to develop into anything resembling love.  
  
Severus did not believe the prophecy spoke of romantic love. It could not be so. Before she jumped in front of him in the battle, his feelings toward Hermione Granger had been nothing more than vague dislike. If his recurrent dream was any indication, it was at that moment that she had risen enormously in his estimation. He cared for her as he imagined one would a close relation, perhaps a niece. Still, he had never felt that way about anyone before.  
  
The faculty members not already at Hogwarts were due back within the next two weeks to prepare for classes. All meals were still held in the Great Hall despite small numbers. Severus preferred to eat alone, except for breakfast, which served as a daily conference with McGonagall. However, since he was now the Headmaster, he was obligated to take meals with the rest of the faculty.  
  
The table that evening was unusually full. Professor Flitwick had just returned from a vacation after his recovery in St. Mungo’s. Hagrid was present as well, wedged in between Flitwick and Madam Hooch. He must have come to welcome Flitwick back, since he generally seemed to prefer burning something over the fire in his hut to eating in the Great Hall.  
  
Making his way toward the table, Severus wished that the Great Hall was not so great and silent. Conversation stopped as he approached. When he reached the table, Minerva was the first to speak.  
  
“There you are, Severus. I was just saying to Filius that you might be too busy with Miss Granger to join us this evening.”  
  
“Indeed not. She is already recovered and resting.”  
  
Taking his seat, Severus had addressed Flitwick.  
  
“I see that your vacation has agreed with you, Filius. I am surprised that you have returned so soon. I believe you were assured that you need not come back before August.”  
  
Flitwick blinked and nodded before he replied.  
  
“I am as surprised as anyone,” he said. “I thought I would never get out of the hospital. St. Mungo’s is not what it was even five years ago. Minerva told me that you had some trouble with the Healers over poor Miss Granger.”  
  
“Yes,” said Severus grimly. “Consequently, certain fools are no longer welcome on the grounds.”  
  
Flitwick chuckled.  
  
“And was that Minerva’s doing or yours?”  
  
It was McGonagall’s turn to laugh.  
  
“It was a joint decision,” she said.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence at the table as her laughter died. Everyone politely sipped from their goblets, except for Hagrid, who slurped. After taking a bite of greens, Flitwick cleared his throat with a strange high-pitched sound.  
  
“Severus,” he said seriously. “I would just like to say that I look forward to working with you this year. When Minerva told me that she had to beg you to take over the school again, I had to laugh. Sounded just like you. But I am perfectly serious when I say that it will be an honor to have you back as Headmaster and I expect this year to be the best we’ve all had in a long time.”  
  
Suddenly every eye was on Severus, and the clinking of silver on plates ceased. McGonagall looked quite odd, and Severus realized that she was on the verge of tears. Tears!  
  
“Your optimism is appreciated,” Severus said diplomatically. “Perhaps the students can be persuaded to share the sentiment, and we may yet keep our jobs.”  
  
Apparently in a very merry mood, Flitwick chuckled again. Severus wondered exactly what was in the tiny Professor’s goblet.  
  
“Of course they will! I have no doubt they will all be returning this year,” said Flitwick.  
  
Severus had his doubts, but he was not going to discuss them with Flitwick, who may have been somewhat inebriated. Perhaps the man was just glad to be alive and happy at the prospect of teaching again, though such thoughts had never filled Severus with joy.  
  
Thanks to Minerva, the conversation turned to Flitwick’s recent travels, and Severus was content to listen as they discussed the wonders of Egypt and Greece. He excused himself as soon as he had finished his meal, saying that he should make sure Miss Granger was still doing well. Madam Pomfrey gave him a look, which he pretended not to notice. She knew that his evening would involve sitting and reading at Hermione's bedside, and he suspected that she disapproved.  
  
Making his way to Hermione’s room, he patted his robe to make sure that he had the Legilimency book with him. Despite his earlier reservations, he read the final chapter, relaxing enough to forget that he had an audience in his mind. That is, until he realized that Hermione was thinking about him.  
  
It started as a vague feeling like the one he got when he turned a corner and his name died on a student’s lips. Then, an image of his own face reached his mind like an echo. He was curious, but kept reading, waiting for her to accidentally slip again. Seconds later, Voldemort’s reptilian features interrupted his thoughts. The image faded quickly, only to be replaced by Potter writhing in a bed, murmuring feverishly.  
  
Severus stopped reading abruptly.  
  
“Miss Granger, if the material is disturbing to you, perhaps it is better to stop here.”  
  
Though she insisted that she was fine, it was a lie if she was thinking of Voldemort. He had sensed the agitation connected with his own face and found himself wishing that she had not just compared him to the Dark Lord.  
  
Severus snapped the book shut and spoke with his thoughts.  
  
 _Perhaps you would like to tell me why my mind was assaulted by an image of the Dark Lord just now. You are generally good about keeping your thoughts to yourself, which suggests that you are upset and not, in fact, ‘fine’._  
  
She was embarrassed, but Severus was not about to let her avoid the truth. He prompted her until she admitted why she was thinking of Voldemort. After a moment, no doubt as she tried to think of an appropriate lie, she answered.  
  
 _Surely it is not surprising that I would think of him, since I’ve heard that he was a powerful and ruthless Legilimens, and you are currently reading a book on the subject._  
  
Severus only waited impatiently for her to continue. Hermione sighed again.  
  
 _I was just wondering whether Voldemort was ever a truly skilled Legilimens. I would not think he would bother to take the time to be subtle._  
  
She seemed to be telling the truth. Severus was impressed with her evaluation of the Dark Lord. Even looking directly into her eyes, he sensed no deception in her thoughts.  
  
Severus was careful to keep his thoughts occluded as memories of the Dark Lord’s methods had flooded his mind. Though Voldemort had been a Slytherin, he had been lacking in subtlety, or more precisely, the patience to practice it. He had been persuasive, deceptive, and cunning, but was never interested in the art of subtlety. Details were left to his servants and he swiftly punished anyone who failed to deliver results.  
  
 _Is that how you fooled him – by making him think that you were like him, that you wanted power? If he had really known you, he would have found out the truth._  
  
It was true that Severus had not longed for power so much as recognition. At first, power had been like a drug to him, new and heady. He had been a favorite of the Dark Lord for his superior knowledge of the Dark Arts, and had taken every opportunity to rub it in the faces of his former housemates. They had finally been forced to give him the respect that he craved, finally acknowledging the half-blood Prince. For a while he had convinced himself that servitude to a madman was bearable if it came with such power, respect, and protection.  
  
Voldemort had never suspected that Severus was hiding the extent of his skills. Severus was an adept Occlumens even as a student at Hogwarts, and dabbled in Legilimency soon after graduating. When he became a servant of the Dark Lord, he returned to the subject in earnest. Even before becoming a spy for Dumbledore, he had taken steps to protect his mind from his dark master. He had seen too many minds mercilessly gutted to think that he could survive an interrogation with the Dark Lord unprotected.  
  
With Occlumency and careful planning, he had deceived the Dark Lord. The trick had been to produce enough real memories to satisfy his master and allow him to 'find' them on his own. Severus' hatred of Potter had proven extremely useful. His feelings for Potter infused every interaction with the boy, effectively proving that Severus hated Harry even more than he had James. Voldemort had known about James, just as he had known about Severus' love for Lily, which he interpreted as attraction and desire and nothing more.  
  
“It’s your filthy father’s blood that makes you beg for a Mudblood,” he had once hissed mockingly. “If you weren’t so useful I’d kill you for such a disgusting weakness. You have Dumbledore to thank for your life. If he had not hired you… yes, you have been very lucky…”  
  
Severus realized that Hermione was still waiting for an answer.  
  
 _Much of what the Dark Lord knew about me was the truth, Granger._  
  
She was not satisfied.  
  
 _But, he underestimated you._  
  
She was right, of course, but he did not like tone of her thoughts. She had not been comparing him to the Dark Lord out of fear. A wave of irritation swept over him. She was a foolish girl, and he was a greater fool for enjoying her naïve admiration.  
  
 _...you must be a truly incredible Occlumens, because you fooled him, and also a great Legilimens because of your subtlety._  
  
He should have made a cutting remark, rebuking her for presuming to compliment his abilities. What did she know about the art of Legilimency? A great deal more than anyone else currently alive and in his acquaintance, Severus had to admit.  
  
There was no mistaking the admiration in her thoughts. It could not continue.  
  
 _Miss Granger, how do you imagine that I came to be so – skilled?_  
  
She tried to answer playfully, determined to ignore his mood. She must have noticed his frustration, though, because she immediately apologized.  
  
Severus could stand it no longer. She was apologizing for the very thing that he was trying to impress upon her – she should not trust so easily.  
  
“Don’t,” he said, taking the opportunity to flee the room.  
  
He had gone to his bedroom and paced angrily. He despised himself. He liked her admiration. Much of his young life had been ruled by the need to be superior, and the desire to be recognized for it. He had never been able to earn Lily's respect, the only person who had truly mattered. He could not earn Hermione’s respect either, not without deceiving her and possibly sealing her fate as a victim of the curse meant for him.  
  
Severus readied himself for bed as if he were already asleep, knocking into furniture and leaving his robe where it fell on the floor as he undressed. As his head hit the pillow, he could not even remember getting into bed.  
  
 _And through love for her he will thwart his master._  
  
Love had somehow connected them at the exact moment the curse touched them. What he had felt in those brief moments before the darkness took over – a confusing mass of emotions bursting free from the confines of his carefully regulated mind – must have allowed him to mitigate the effects of the curse in some way.  
  
If she began to care for him as he did for her, he would be released from the curse. Again, love, in some form, would be the key. He imagined that Dumbledore would be nodding sagely if he were alive and spouting something cryptic about the mysteries of ancient magic.  
  
Severus was certain of one thing: he could not indulge in his weaknesses when it came to Hermione. He did not yet know what would happen to her if he escaped the curse that bound them together. He had never needed her good opinion before, and he did not need it now. He would not encourage her to think well of him until he discovered how to reverse the curse – if that day ever came.  
  
Severus rose from bed and pulled a night-robe over his bare torso. Retrieving his pants from the floor, he donned them and hurried to his office. It was late, but he would not be able to rest until he sent the letter he had resolved to write while brushing his teeth.  
  
Waking Fawkes with his near-silent entrance, Severus shushed the bird.  
  
“Nothing's the matter, you overgrown chicken! I just have a letter to write. Mind your own business and go back to sleep.”  
  
Lighting a single candle, he sat down and hastily scribbled his note. When he was done it was longer than he had planned, and would be illegible even to a former student who would be used to reading his spiky scrawl.  
  
He re-penned the words more carefully onto a new sheet, including only the most pertinent information. The rest could be explained in person. After he finished, he rolled the parchment and called an owl. Fawkes made a short, annoyed sound and flew over to alight on the windowsill. He gave the much smaller owl a menacing look and fluffed his plumage up. The owl made a quick exit.  
  
“Far be it from me to deny you an errand,” said Severus. “I assumed you would prefer not to have your rest interrupted for a simple letter delivery.”  
  
Fawkes nipped him lightly, as if to rebuke him for downplaying the importance of the errand. Severus knew that Dumbledore had sometimes used Fawkes to carry messages, but he did not think the conspicuous appearance of the phoenix would be appropriate for this particular errand.  
  
Returning to his bed, Severus attempted to calm and clear his thoughts.  
  
Far from reconciled to his decision, he was nevertheless certain it was the right one. Hermione would be hurt when he began to ignore her. He was selfishly loath to stop reading with her. It was the most relaxing part of his day.  
  
A feeling of despair hit him as he strengthened his resolve. There could be no more familiarity between them, no more comfortable silences in her company. He had to end it.  
  
Severus closed his eyes, determined to sleep and forget about Hermione Granger, knowing he was unlikely to succeed, given that he dreamed about her almost every night.  
  
That night was no different. His recurrent dream had come again.  
  
 _Hermione saved him yet again. She was radiant as she fell in the blinding light, her eyes locked on his. Then suddenly she was standing up in front of him, and he realized that he must be standing as well. Somehow her eyes were level with his, though he should be much taller than her.  
  
She simply stared at him, her eyes shining and a faint smile on her lips.  
  
“Leave me alone,” he said, pleading with her. Didn’t she know what would happen?  
  
One corner of her mouth rose farther into a smile. She shook her head and reached out toward him. He knew that he should not let her touch him. Something terrible would happen if she touched him.  
  
“Don’t,” he whispered.  
  
She stepped forward and touched his arm, her eyes wide. Then, she was clutching the fabric of his sleeve in her hand as she fell into his arms, stiff and cold, like a corpse.  
  
“Hermione!”  
  
He pushed her away, and she gasped back to life as she hit the ground. She stood up and stepped toward him again, her face set in determination.  
  
“Hermione,” he protested again. She took another step closer, determined to be near him. Severus knew what he must do.  
  
He ran. He turned and ran without looking back. He ran until his body collapsed, and he realized that he was in a graveyard. From where he lay on the ground he could see a headstone to his right. With great effort, he rolled over onto his back, so that he was lying in front of it. She would never find him here.  
  
“Professor?”  
  
Apparently, he was wrong.  
  
“Professor Snape? Wake up! Please wake up!”  
  
She touched him again, shaking his shoulder._  
  
“Professor? Professor Snape… Severus!”  
  
It was then that Severus realized he was no longer dreaming. Hermione Granger had just said his name. He had not heard her voice in a very long time, but he recognized the tone and pitch immediately when it hit his ears. He felt his mattress tremor as she shook him. Severus wanted to grab the girl and ask her how she gotten into his quarters, but he couldn’t.  
  
He could not move at all.  
  
He had freed her.  
  
Just like in his dream, he knew what he must do.  
  
She slid her hand off of his shoulder. He could hear her breathing shakily. She pulled at the blankets that covered him and then he felt her hand touch his, flooding it with intense warmth.  
  
 _Professor? Can you hear me? Are you there?_  
  
Severus kept his mind occluded. He banished all thoughts and emotions from his consciousness. He retreated completely, leaving only a cold, empty space where he would normally welcome her thoughts.  
  
Moments later, she climbed onto the bed, and he could feel her leaning over him. Then, she lifted his eyelids, peering fearfully at him, her mind searching for his. He retreated even farther.  
  
 _I know you’re there,_ she thought. _I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!_  
  
“I’m so sorry!” she repeated out loud.  
  
It took her a long time to give up, but finally she whispered another apology and rolled off the bed crying. She cried herself to sleep on his bedroom floor. It was only then that Severus allowed himself to feel happy that she was free.  
  
Hermione would not give up easily. It would be hard to hide from her if she attempted to find him again with a clear head, but Severus was determined to try.  
  
 _But if he be not with her he will be condemned to a traitor’s fate... and only if she loves him in return can he escape the Dark Lord’s curse that binds._  
  
Severus did not want to escape. He would take the curse that was meant for him, and Hermione would be free. Eventually she would leave him, and he would die alone, as he had always known he would.


	20. The First Day

Hermione woke to a sharp pain in her neck. She groaned and opened her eyes groggily. She was lying on the cold, hard floor of Snape’s bedchamber, exactly where she had collapsed the night before.  
  
Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head, turned it, and stretched her neck in the opposite direction. It cracked loudly in protest.  
  
“Ow,” she said softly, rubbing it. She pushed herself up onto her knees, her eyes immediately drawn to the covered mound of Snape’s body on the mattress above her. Hermione climbed to her feet.  
  
She must try again.  
  
“Professor?”  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated.  
  
 _Professor?_  
  
Hermione thought that the room did not feel quite as empty as it had the night before. She felt like she was being watched. She kept her eyes closed, trying to reach out with her mind to find him.  
  
Hermione finally sighed and turned away from the bed. She closed her eyes once more, this time to find the strength for what the day would bring.  
  
“Truno!” she called.  
  
The house-elf appeared with a crack.  
  
“Truno is here, Miss!” he announced. He folded his arms and glanced at the bed.  
  
“What happen, Miss? Professor Snape is still not waking up and Truno is not hearing Miss call him all night.”  
  
“I know,” said Hermione apologetically. “I fell asleep.”  
  
Truno gave her what appeared to be a reproachful glare.  
  
“I was very tired,” said Hermione crossly. “Truno, has anybody noticed that I’m not in my bed yet?”  
  
The elf shook his head, his large ears flapping.  
  
“No. Is too early, Miss,” he said. “Give it one hour.”  
  
“One hour,” repeated Hermione, imagining the scene when Madam Pomfrey found her bed empty.  
  
“Okay, Truno,” she said. “I need you to go to Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. Don’t say why – I mean, don’t tell them about me. Say that the Headmaster needs them immediately – in his office.”  
  
Truno nodded, and prepared to leave.  
  
“Oh! Wait,” Hermione said. “Could you tell me how get to the Headmaster’s office?”  
  
“I take you,” he said, gripping her arm. Hermione had only a second to prepare to Apparate, which was not enough to keep her from falling to the floor again when they arrived in the Headmaster’s office. It seemed that the house-elf’s brand of magic did not agree with Hermione’s equilibrium.  
  
“Thank you,” she said once she was upright again. “One more thing, Truno, before you go…”  
  
The elf folded his arms impatiently. Hermione wondered at such boldness. Normally, she would be delighted to meet a house-elf with a mind of its own, but right now she was not in the mood to appreciate it. She wondered how long Truno had been at Hogwarts, and what he had thought of Dobby.  
  
“Make sure the door to my room in the infirmary is closed,” she said.  
  
Truno nodded, grunted, and Apparated away.  
  
Hermione was now alone in the Headmaster’s office. Snape’s office. Sleeping portraits snored all around her, though Hermione knew they must all be pretending. A woman in bright scarlet robes kept opening one eye to peek at her, snoring loudly all the while.  
  
Hermione moved to stand by one of the windows, staring at the faint glow of the sunrise on the horizon. She was contemplating the clouds that hung low in the sky when the sound of rustling feathers startled her. She looked around for the source of the noise, but Fawkes’ perch was empty.  
  
Moments later, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey arrived. Hermione heard them murmuring to one another outside the door. McGonagall entered first, speaking before she was even inside the office.  
  
“What is it, Severus, that could not wait another hour? Not everyone can get by on what little sleep you do – good god!”  
  
When McGongall saw Hermione standing by Snape’s desk, she stopped abruptly, causing Madam Pomfrey to bump into her. The Transfiguration professor staggered, holding her arms out as if to shield her companion from the frightening apparition in front of her.  
  
“Professor McGon-”  
  
“Miss Granger?!”  
  
Madam Pomfrey had peered around McGonagall, and was the first to speak. The other woman’s mouth was still open in shock. Hermione stepped around the desk slowly.  
  
“Yes,” Hermione said softly. “It’s really me.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey took a step from behind McGonagall, her eyes wide. McGonagall finally collected herself and managed to speak.  
  
“How, Miss Granger?”  
  
Hermione blinked back tears.  
  
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It happened last night. I don’t know what he did, how he could have – ”  
  
McGonagall’s face was white, Hermione noticed. Her lips moved slowly to form her next question.  
  
“Where is Severus?”  
  
Hermione had to look at the floor.  
  
“He’s… in his bed.”  
  
She looked up to see the women’s faces, still pale and uncomprehending.  
  
“I woke up last night,” she explained. “I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to go anywhere without my wand, so I tried to call Winky, the house-elf, only Truno came instead. I told him to get Professor Snape, but he came back and Apparated me to the Headmaster’s rooms.”  
  
Hermione met McGonagall’s terrified gaze.  
  
“Professor Snape was unresponsive. I tried to communicate via Legilimency, as we have been, but...”  
  
Hermione willed herself to continue.  
  
“…but I failed. I could not reach him. I fell asleep in the room, and when I woke up this morning I tried again. Nothing has worked. I was so sure that I understood it!”  
  
Hermione felt tears threaten to spill down her cheeks and she blinked, looking at the floor again. After a few moments of silence, she heard the rustling of robes and before she could look up, Madam Pomfrey had her in a tight embrace.  
  
“It’s all right, my dear,” said Pomfrey. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had some rest. Don’t worry about Severus just now.”  
  
Hermione felt a stab of anger in her chest. She squirmed out of Madam Pomfrey’s grip.  
  
“I don’t need to rest!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been lying in a bed for weeks! I need to figure out what happened!”  
  
Hermione wiped her eyes and turned to McGonagall.  
  
“I assume you’ll both want to see him, Professor?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” said McGonagall, giving Madam Pomfrey a look of caution. “I will see him immediately.”  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
“Thank you, Professor,” she said gratefully, then continued. “I don’t suppose you could lead the way? I have no idea where his rooms are located. Truno brought me here.”  
  
McGonagall nodded and walked across the room. She motioned for Hermione and Madam Pomfrey to follow her. When they stood beside her, she gave Hermione a stern look.  
  
“I trust you can keep a secret, Miss Granger.”  
  
Hermione knew her face betrayed her curiosity as she watched McGonagall reach out with one finger and stroke the wall beside a low-hanging portrait of a very fat former Headmaster, who was frowning his disapproval at McGonagall. The wall shimmered and then vanished, leaving a narrow opening beside the picture frame. McGonagall turned and motioned for Hermione and Madam Pomfrey to follow. She stepped into the dark, rectangular void, and it immediately lit up. Hermione entered, with Madam Pomfrey close behind. As soon as they were all inside, the wall closed behind them.  
  
They were in a small chamber lit by two lamps on either side of a dark, plain door. Hermione waited for McGonagall to say a password, but instead, she simply grasped the latch and swung the door open, revealing a circular room with tall bookshelves lining the walls, two armchairs, and a couch. A single window let in the morning’s soft light.  
  
Hermione followed McGonagall across the room to another door. This one was opened to reveal a bedroom that Hermione recognized immediately. Snape was still lying in his bed, the sheets crumpled from where she had sat the night before, desperately trying to speak to him.  
  
The three women walked to the bed together and stood silently beside it. Madam Pomfrey was the first to move, smoothing the bedclothes and pulling out her wand to perform the body scanning spells that she had used so many times on Hermione.  
  
To nobody’s surprise, she eventually said, “There seems to be nothing wrong with him.”  
  
McGonagall had watched it all without comment, but now she crossed her arms and bent over Snape, as if to discern whether he might be playing a trick on them. Hermione closed her eyes, which threatened to leak tears once more. Now that she was finally free to express them, her emotions were hard to control.  
  
 _Please hear me, Professor!_  
  
“I suppose we should move him to the infirmary,” said Madam Pomfrey at last.  
  
Hermione’s eyes flew open in alarm. She looked to McGonagall, who was grim.  
  
“Yes,” she said. “We will have to get a Healer in here. The Ministry and the Board will insist upon it as soon as they know of his condition.”  
  
Hermione could not believe what McGonagall was suggesting.  
  
“You can’t be serious!” she exclaimed, to the astonishment of the other women.  
  
“Miss Granger?”  
  
Hermione swallowed with some difficulty.  
  
“I apologize, Professor, but you can’t bring a Healer to Hogwarts. Professor Snape would never allow a Healer back here to attend him if he had the choice!”  
  
“I am well aware of what Severus would want,” said McGonagall stiffly, but then her manner softened.  
  
“He is unable to tell us his wishes, Miss Granger, and even if you were able to speak to him, we would be overruled. The Ministry and the Board will be much more concerned about him than they were about you, and will be much less inclined to leave the decision in our hands. Besides, we can do nothing for him on our own.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey nodded her agreement. Hermione could not believe how easily they accepted defeat.  
  
“We _can_ do something!” she said. “We’ll find his notes. He’s been taking notes on everything! I can practice Legilimency, and when I’m able to talk to him we’ll figure out why this happened.”  
  
McGonagall sent a worried glance in Madam Pomfrey's direction.  
  
“Hermione, you must calm yourself. We will certainly not abandon Severus to the Healers. Poppy will attend to him just as she did to you. I will do everything in my power to keep him here at Hogwarts. As for the Legilimency,” McGonagall took a deep breath and placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, “it is an extremely difficult art. So difficult that it is rarely learned, and as a result many believe it is only a myth. You are a very smart, talented witch, but even you have limitations. Study and practice, but do not expect too much of yourself. Some of the most powerful wizards in history have attempted Legilimency and were never able to master it.”  
  
“Are there no other Legilimens in the world?” blurted Hermione.  
  
“None that are known,” said McGonagall. “It is not a skill that one wants to advertise, especially now. If there are any alive they are not likely to be the sort of person who can be trusted.”  
  
“I know,” said Hermione miserably. The three women stared at Severus once more.  
  
“Could we leave him here, in this room?” wondered Hermione. “I think he would be – more comfortable. Perhaps we could say that he is away on Hogwarts business and keep this a secret for a while.”  
  
McGonagall sighed.  
  
“It would best to keep it a secret for as long as possible, but that cannot be long. Professor Snape had just agreed to address the public for the first time as Headmaster in only a week.”  
  
“I would be more comfortable with him in the infirmary,” said Madam Pomfrey firmly.  
  
McGonagall nodded her agreement, and turned to Hermione once more.  
  
“Miss Granger, come with me and we will make you presentable. I’m sure you’re anxious to see your friends.”  
  
Hermione was suddenly aware that she wore nothing but the white night robe that Mrs. Weasley had brought for her a few weeks ago. She blushed, and was glad that her mass of wild hair hid her cheeks.  
  
“That would be wonderful,” she said.  
  
McGonagall took Hermione to the Head Girl’s rooms, complete with a bath and a tiny sitting room.  
  
“It should have been yours, anyway,” she said sadly. Hermione could not think of any reply.  
  
“Well, I suppose you will need something to wear,” McGonagall said, waving her wand. Seconds later, a dark blue robe flew in through the open door. McGonagall caught it and handed it to Hermione. Hermione’s old, forgotten shoes came next, landing neatly at her feet. They looked much cleaner than she remembered.  
  
“It is still early,” said McGongall. “Breakfast will be in an hour. If you would like to join us in the Great Hall, you may. I will prepare the professors to see you. Or, you may stay here and have something sent up. Just call for Truno – he seems to have taken a liking to you.”  
  
Hermione smiled at the thought. Truno did not seem to like her at all.  
  
“I believe I would like to eat alone this morning,” said Hermione, realizing that she was very hungry, “but do let everyone know that I’ll be roaming the halls today. I wouldn’t want them to think I’ve died and stayed to haunt the school.”  
  
“Very well,” said McGonagall. “Would you like to meet your friends for lunch? I can send a note to the Weasley residence.”  
  
“Actually, I think not,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I would rather surprise them. Ginny usually comes in the mornings, and I’d like to talk to her alone first.”  
  
McGonagall studied her and nodded.  
  
“Then I’ll be going, Miss Granger,” she said. “Do not hesitate to ask for anything you need. I will be in the castle all day.”  
  
“Thank you,” Hermione said again, and McGonagall was gone.  
  
Hermione had a lovely bath, and felt much better afterward. She dressed in the blue robe and stood in front of the head girl’s full-length mirror, twisting her hair back into a messy bun, before she realized that she had nothing with which to tie it back. She instinctively reached for her wand, but remembered that she did not have one.  
  
Hermione sighed and settled for an unsecured braid that would work itself loose in minutes. She studied her reflection, smoothing the robe around her. She was thinner. Her cheekbones stuck out more than she remembered, and her face had lost its youthful roundness. Her hair was not quite the same either. It seemed to curl more easily than before, instead of forming itself into a great frizzy mess. Madam Pomfrey’s daily care must have improved it – she had spent more time on it than Hermione ever had.  
  
Hermione returned to the little sitting room and with some reluctance called Truno again, asking him for some breakfast. She was now ravenous. Truno returned with a tray, filled with what seemed to be an enormous quantity of food, but there was hardly a crumb left when Hermione had finished.  
  
After her meal, Hermione went straight to the infirmary, where her thoughts had been all morning. Snape was installed in her private room, lying beneath the rose window. He looked peaceful, which was a word that Hermione would never have thought could describe Professor Snape.  
  
“Welcome back, Miss Granger!”  
  
Hermione looked up at the portrait of Dumbledore.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, finally making herself walk over to the bed.  
  
He was still breathing. She touched his hand lightly. It was warm.  
  
Hermione would not give up, no matter what McGonagall said. She would learn Legilimency!  
  
“Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you, Professor,” she said softly.  
  
Hermione was startled again when she heard Fawkes’ soft trill echo her words. The phoenix was perched on the chair across from her.  
  
“Hello, Fawkes. Have you been here all this time?”  
  
The bird only cocked its head at her.  
  
“Well, at least you’ll have some company when I’m not here, Professor.”  
  
It was still early, and Ginny would not come for at least an hour. Hermione sat with Snape for a while, but she could not bear to have a one-sided conversation, and the silence made her feel even worse. She went in search of McGonagall, hoping to get her wand back. The professor was in her office, quill in hand, when Hermione entered.  
  
Hermione was disappointed to hear that her wand had not been recovered. McGonagall offered her one of the school’s wands, which they kept for students who could not afford their own, or who needed a short-term replacement. Hermione chose a worn, sad-looking wand from the cabinet and vowed to make a trip to Diagon Alley as soon as she could for a new one. She thanked McGonagall and left, staring dismally at the stubby, dull stick in her hand.  
  
A wand! Why had Hermione not thought of it before? Perhaps she needed a wand to perform Legilimency! Hadn’t Harry told her that Snape used a wand during the Occlumency lessons?  
  
Hermione immediately doubted herself. The book Snape had read to her had not said anything about wands, and Snape had not used a wand with her, except perhaps in the very beginning. Hermione could not recall. There was only one thing to do. Hermione turned around and knocked on the office door once more before hastily pushing it open. McGonagall looked up in alarm.  
  
“Yes, Miss Granger?”  
  
“Professor, there was one more thing. I meant to ask you if I could get back into Professor Snape’s office today. I would like to look for his notes on the curse and perhaps find the book on Legilimency that he’s been reading to me.”  
  
McGonagall frowned.  
  
“Reading to you?”  
  
“Er – yes. We had almost finished it.”  
  
“I see. Well, I believe that can be arranged, Miss Granger, though you cannot expect to keep any notes you find to yourself. I will need to see them, as will Madam Pomfrey.”  
  
“Of course, Professor,” said Hermione. “I hope that together we can figure this out.”  
  
McGonagall studied Hermione for moment before speaking.  
  
“I am sorry that I did not press Severus to consult more fully with us about his theories. It was wrong to let him go on alone, whatever his wishes might have been. I will do my best to help him now.”  
  
McGonagall glanced at her clock.  
  
“Shall we go to the headmaster’s office?”  
  
Hermione, too, checked the time.  
  
“Actually, Ginny should be here any minute, so I think it will have to be later. I can’t let her walk into the infirmary without any explanation!”  
  
McGonagall nodded and shifted some papers on her desk.  
  
“Dumbledore,” she said without looking up.  
  
“What?” Hermione said, “I don’t think that the portrait – ”  
  
McGonagall looked at her.  
  
“The password to the Headmaster’s office is still ‘Dumbledore.’ All year, I thought that he was just mocking us with it, but…” Her voice cracked. “Well, I suppose that’s what he meant for us to think.”  
  
“Thank you, Professor,” said Hermione, turning to leave once more. She went to the infirmary to wait for her Ginny. Standing just inside the door to the to the hospital wing, Hermione listened for footsteps. Not ten minutes later, she heard Ginny approach. She could recognize almost everyone by their footsteps now.  
  
She came through the door, her hair streaming behind her like an orange flame. She was walking so quickly that she did not notice Hermione standing to one side of the doorway. The day’s paper was in her hand. As she passed, she turned her head slightly in Hermione’s direction. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but she could not. The only sound she made was a little gasp as she drew a breath.  
  
Ginny had stopped a few feet in front of Hermione, staring straight ahead.  
  
“Hermione?”  
  
Hermione could not help smiling.  
  
“Hello, Ginny.”  
  
Ginny made a strangled sound and turned around, tears already streaking her face. She leapt at Hermione, pulled her into a tight hug, and sobbed. Hermione felt her own eyes begin to water. Ginny finally let her go, her brown eyes bright with tears and happiness.  
  
“Hermione… I… how?!”  
  
“I don’t know, Ginny. I just... woke up. Last night.”  
  
Ginny wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sniffed.  
  
“You just woke up? You mean, Snape didn’t even do anything?”  
  
Hermione hesitated.  
  
“No,” she finally said.  
  
Ginny just stared at Hermione, apparently trying to convince herself that she was not seeing a ghost. After some moments of silence, her voice burst forth again.  
  
“That’s impossible – people don’t just get over curses! I really can’t believe it!”  
  
Hermione held up her hands.  
  
“Believe it,” she said. “That’s all I can tell you. I can hardly believe it myself.”  
  
“Hermione! Why didn’t you owl us this morning? You know we would have all been here in an instant. What have you been doing all day?”  
  
Hermione only smiled slightly and said, “I needed time to adjust.”  
  
Ginny hugged her again.  
  
“Well now that you’ve had it, come back to The Burrow with me!”  
  
“Ginny, I don’t know…”  
  
Hermione had not considered leaving the castle. What would happen to Snape? Hermione had a feeling that she knew exactly what would happen if she left.  
  
“What do you mean? Don’t you want to get away from this castle, Hermione? How can you even stand to be in the infirmary right now? Come on, I promise I will try to keep Mum from smothering you and stuffing you full of food, though you look like you need it.”  
  
Hermione studied at her friend seriously, trying not to look as if she were hiding something.  
  
“Ginny, I think I need a day to myself. It’s not that I don’t want to see everyone, but it’s all so overwhelming.”  
  
Disappointment swept across Ginny’s face, and Hermione began to feel guilty.  
  
“You can tell them that I’m recovered,” she said. “Please, tell them right away! And bring Harry and Ron tomorrow, and tell the others that I will see them very soon.”  
  
Ginny frowned.  
  
“All right,” she said, looking worried. “If you’re sure that’s what you want. Do you want to talk a bit, before I go?”  
  
Hermione did not want to talk to anyone except for Snape, but she sat with Ginny for over an hour, reliving the past weeks with her friend, and avoiding any mention of Ron and Padma. When Ginny left for lunch at the Burrow, Hermione went to Snape’s office.  
  
She approached the gargoyle nervously, as if she were about to be caught and given detention.  
  
“Dumbledore,” she whispered.  
  
The gargoyle leapt aside, and the wall opened to reveal the spiral staircase, which Hermione eagerly ascended.  
  
Hermione searched the desk, but could not find any notes, or the little journal Snape had often written in during his visits. Venturing to the bookshelf, Hermione quickly realized that it held only history books. There were quite a few editions of _Hogwarts: a History_ , as well as general magical history books, and what appeared to be journals, categorized by year, under the name of each Headmaster or Headmistress.  
  
Hermione tore herself away from the bookshelf and walked over to the portrait of the fat headmaster. Ignoring his angry glare, Hermione stroked the wall just as McGonagall had.  
  
Once inside the circular room, Hermione began to browse the shelves, looking for anything on Legilimency. It did not take long to find three shelves on the subject, much more than she would have expected for an art that was widely believed to be a myth.  
  
Hermione ran her finger along the titles, scanning for something that would help her. They all looked very old, and some were in languages that she did not recognize. She stopped halfway through the second shelf on the title, _Mind Magic and the Use of the Wand._  
  
Pulling the slender book from the shelf, Hermione fell into one of the armchairs and began reading.  
  
“Legilimency was developed without the use of the wand. The ability to perform mind magic is not universal. While most wizards can learn to occlude their minds, very few possess the magical power to penetrate the mind of another.”  
  
Hermione nearly slammed the book shut in frustration. She had to be capable of Legilimency!  
  
After a moment, she opened the book again and read on, unaware of the passing of time.  
  
“We recommend that a beginner not use a wand. Channeling mind magic through the wand provides more power than is necessary and for this reason, it is a clumsy method. Only the most accomplished Legilimens can use a wand with skill, but to a skilled Legilimens a wand is an impediment. A Legilimens seeks to permeate the mind as water soaks through cloth, but this is impossible to accomplish if the Legilimens uses a wand.”  
  
Hermione pulled out her worn wand and stared at it, realizing that the book was right. She imagined that having one’s mind assaulted with the direct, narrowly-focused magic of a wand would not be a pleasant experience. She did not think Snape had ever used a wand with her. If it was as unnecessary and as counterproductive as the book said, it was not likely that he would.  
  
But Hermione was certain that Harry had said that Snape used his wand during the Occlumency lessons. She had often asked Harry about the lessons, not only because she wanted to know if he was improving, but also to satisfy her own curiosity. If Snape did not need a wand to perform Legilimency, why had he used one with Harry?  
  
Hermione continued reading the book, which outlined the methods of wand-based and wandless Legilimency, many of which she was familiar with from the book Snape had read to her. When she finished, she was left to conclude that either she would never be able to perform Legilimency, or that she would have to use a wand to give her enough power to enter Snape’s mind. It was not ideal, but she was failing miserably without a wand. Who knew how much time she had to learn?  
  
Hermione closed the book and stared at the cover. She could not practice Legilimency on Professor Snape! She was untrained, and using a wand would be like a painful attack on his mind. She could warn him, she supposed, but he would have to make himself vulnerable in order for them to communicate, no matter how clumsy her efforts were. Would he allow it?  
  
Hermione spun her borrowed wand in her fingers. She had not yet tried to cast a spell with it. She pointed her wand at a thick red book on the bookshelf in front of her, flicked and swished. Three volumes to the right of her target shot off the shelf, flew across the room, and slammed into the wall behind her before dropping to the floor.  
  
Hermione sighed. She could not attempt anything more complex than a cheering charm until she had a new wand. She got up and returned the books to the shelf by hand.  
  
It was now dinner time, Hermione realized. She had not eaten lunch. Taking a few more books with her, Hermione returned to the Head Girl’s quarters. Knowing that McGonagall would expect her at dinner, Hermione made her way to the Great Hall. She had to make an appearance sooner or later, but she dreaded the affair.  
  
Hermione entered the Great Hall, and was relieved to see that only McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were present.  
  
“It is good of you to join us, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall. “If you had not come in the next ten minutes I would have been forced to send Truno after you. I assume you found what you were looking for?”  
  
Hermione nodded, and then realized that she had forgotten to finish her search for the notes.  
  
“Yes, Professor,” she said. “Er – well, actually I did not find any notes. What I did find were Legilimency books, and I hope that soon I will be able to speak with Professor Snape again.”  
  
McGonagall pursed her lips and set down her fork.  
  
“We may not have that much time, Miss Granger. We know nothing except that you two are connected and that Professor Snape seems to have found a way to transfer the effects of the curse from you to himself. Poppy and I suspect that it is likely that the added stress of taking over as Headmaster weakened him and the curse has moved to the weaker victim.”  
  
Hermione tried to convince herself that she was hungry, but the thought of food made her feel sick. Her lack of appetite did not go unnoticed by Madam Pomfrey.  
  
“You must eat something, Miss Granger,” she cautioned. “Do not allow your body to become weak. I do not wish to frighten you, child, but a curse such as this does not simply disappear on its own. If, as Minerva has said, the curse chooses the weaker victim, you risk falling to it again. Severus has been neglecting his own health, and it is likely the reason he has been overcome.”  
  
Hermione placed her nearly-full goblet on the table with a shaking hand before she answered.  
  
“If that’s the case,” she said calmly, “then I must let the curse take me again.”  
  
“Miss Granger!”  
  
“Certainly not!”  
  
Hermione sighed and began pushing her food around her plate with her fork.  
  
“I heard you both say many times that Professor Snape’s expertise was my only hope! If his recovery is as simple as my skipping a few meals, it is the best plan we have. I cannot hope to learn Legilimency in the near future, and we don’t yet know what sort of notes he kept – they might be no help at all!”  
  
“Hermione!”  
  
McGonagall's voice was stern.  
  
“Under no circumstances will you attempt such a plan! We cannot afford to make assumptions about how this curse will behave.”  
  
“Indeed,” interrupted Madam Pomfrey. “Remember, you were dependent on Severus before, and it is likely that he depends on you now. If you are both too weak to fight the effects of the curse, it is possible that neither of you will recover.”  
  
“Exactly, Poppy,” said McGonagall. “She would risk both of their lives. No, Miss Granger, you must do the opposite of what you have proposed. You must keep yourself well. You must eat and you must rest! Severus would insist upon it.”  
  
Hermione knew that they were right. It would be crazy to try to take back the curse. She should be glad that she was free, but she only felt helpless and guilty. The thought of seeing Harry and Ron again did little to lift her spirits. They would not understand why she was unhappy.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sure Professor Snape kept detailed notes – he often brought a journal with him to the infirmary. It’s just hard to do nothing!”  
  
“We do not plan to do nothing, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall firmly, “but right now our first concern is to keep you well. Why don’t you go on to bed now? You must be exhausted from today, after being inactive for so long.”  
  
It was true. Hermione’s eyelids felt heavy and her head was a bit fuzzy. She nodded.  
  
“I am tired,” she admitted. She looked at McGonagall.  
  
“I was going to search for the notes after dinner…” she began.  
  
“Something I should have done in the first place,” said McGonagall. “I will find them tonight, and we can look over them in the morning, if you wish.”  
  
Hermione agreed, and as soon as she had worked up the energy, she scraped her chair back and made her exit. She went to her rooms, kicked off her shoes, and curled up with _Exercises for the Mind, Volume I,_ but she did not get past the second page that night. She fell asleep lying across the bed sideways, her right cheek pressed into the binding of the book, feet dangling off the edge, her arms tucked underneath her. She did not stir until morning.


	21. The Journal

Hermione woke up on the second day after her recovery feeling as if she had slept on the floor again. After falling asleep on her book, she had not moved all night. Peeling her face off of _Exercises for the Mind,_ she sat up and checked the time, her stomach grumbling.  
  
Breakfast would be served in ten minutes. Sliding off the bed, Hermione noticed a neatly folded towel at the foot of it, and next to it was a stack of clothing that included a slightly faded green robe, along with the clothes she had been wearing the day of the battle and her small beaded handbag.  
  
Hermione grabbed the bag, opened it, and shook it. She could hear books tumbling and tent poles rattling inside. Grinning, Hermione closed her bag and put it back on the bed next to the clothes.  
  
The green robe was not hers, and it needed a few adjustments. Hermione tailored it, doing a very poor job with her borrowed wand. One sleeve was slightly longer than the other. Hermione eventually gave up and went to breakfast, vowing that she would have a new wand by the end of the week.  
  
She found the staff table in the Great Hall half-full. Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, Madam Hooch, and Professor Sprout were present, in addition to McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. Hermione’s entrance brought a hush over the room until Hagrid’s voice boomed over the distance.  
  
“Hermione Granger, I tho' I’d never see yeh again!”  
  
The others promptly greeted her as well, though none with as much enthusiasm as Hagrid. He was crying and mopping his face with his napkin, and Hermione could not help smiling back. Hagrid talked the most over breakfast, telling her about everything that had happened while she was in the infirmary, and Hermione let him go on even though she had heard it all before.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn' come to visit yeh more,” he said. “Grawp needed me, an' I didn' want to upset yeh with my blubberin', besides.”  
  
The mail came, and Hermione received a note from Ginny via Pig, who acknowledged her with a loud squeak and jumped around the table excitedly while she read. Ginny wrote that she, Harry and Ron would spend the morning at the castle, and that they hoped Hermione would come to The Burrow later to see the rest of the family.  
  
Hermione looked up from the note to see McGonagall give the others meaningful looks. They all left within a few minutes, except for Hagrid. He was halfway through a long story involving Grawp and a chicken when McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.  
  
“Hagrid –” she began, but Hagrid interrupted her before she said any more.  
  
“Well, I s’pose I’d better be going then,” he said, glancing in McGonagall’s direction and getting to his feet. “Jus’ wanted to let yeh know tha’ Grawp’s been asking ‘bout yeh…’Hermy’ is what he still calls yeh…”  
  
McGonagall gave him a stern look as he clapped Hermione on the back just as she picked up her goblet, causing her to spill its contents over her half-eaten toast.  
  
“I’ll be seeing yeh, Hermione,” he said at last.  
  
“Yes,” said Hermione. “I’ll see you later, Hagrid.”  
  
When he was gone, Hermione looked to McGonagall expectantly.  
  
“Hermione, I’m afraid I don’t have anything to show you this morning,” she said. “I did not find any notes, either in the office or in Professor Snape’s rooms.”  
  
“They must be there!” said Hermione. “I saw him write them! Did you not even find the journal he kept?”  
  
McGonagall shook her head slightly.  
  
“Well, it's somewhere,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Is there anywhere else he went on a regular basis? His old rooms or his office in the dungeons, perhaps?”  
  
“I do not believe so,” said McGonagall. “When he was not with you he seemed to spend a great deal of time in the Headmaster’s office.”  
  
Hermione tried to imagine where Snape would keep his notes. Perhaps he had hidden them. He had been a spy for years, so hiding things would be natural for him. But where would Snape hide a journal? Hermione could picture him pulling it out to scribble a line or two as he stood above her bed in the infirmary, always ignoring her when she asked what he was writing.  
  
“Professor, I think I may know where the journal is,” said Hermione suddenly, standing up. McGongall stood as well, her lips beginning to form a question, but Hermione was already walking swiftly away. She could hear McGonagall get up hastily to follow her.  
  
A short while later they arrived at the Headmaster’s office, both slightly out of breath.  
  
“Dumbledore,” said Hermione impatiently, and hurried up the spiral staircase. She led McGonagall through the office, straight over to the portrait, which was sleeping at the moment. She stroked the wall and entered the little chamber with the two lamps and the door. McGonagall did not say a word, though she looked as if she wished that she had not shown Hermione this particular secret.  
  
Hermione opened the door and marched through the circular room as well, only stopping in her flight when she swung the door open to Snape’s bedchamber. Glancing around the room, her eyes quickly found what she was looking for – the closet. She walked over to it and threw the door open to reveal quite a few black robes. She began running her hands over each one.  
  
McGonagall still did not speak, but she began to copy Hermione’s movements, starting at the opposite end of the closet. They met in the middle, both disappointed.  
  
Hermione looked around the room once more. The door to the bathroom was ajar. Hermione crossed the room and threw it open, immediately spotting a black robe lying on the floor. Moments later, she emerged triumphant with the robe in one hand and the journal in the other.  
  
“Severus does not seem the type to leave his robe lying around,” said McGonagall, frowning. She took the book from Hermione, and when she opened it a flurry of papers fell to the floor, each one covered with cramped writing. Hermione picked up one sheet. It was filled front and back in small, familiar script, although there were so many lines scratched out that it did not take her long to read it. It seemed to be a list of curses and their effects. He had written the counter curses to some of them as well. On the back, “Soul-Starvation Curse” was underlined three times.  
  
“Well, this is definitely it,” said Hermione, looking at McGonagall, who was scanning a page in the journal, frowning.  
  
“Professor McGonagall?”  
  
She met Hermione’s eyes.  
  
“Miss Granger, do you have any idea what this journal contains?”  
  
Hermione thought she did.  
  
“It’s about Legilimency, isn’t it?” said Hermione. “Notes about how we were able to communicate. He said that nobody has ever done anything like it. Why do you ask?”  
  
McGonagall handed the journal to her.  
  
“Read it, Miss Granger, as well as the notes. Perhaps it will prove useful.”  
  
McGonagall cleared her throat. “I suggest that you also begin practicing Legilimency immediately.”  
  
“Of course, Professor,” Hermione said, taking the journal and tucking it under her arm. McGonagall sent Snape’s robe to the closet with a swish of her wand, and they left. Just as they stepped off of the spiral staircase and were about to part ways, McGonagall placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder.  
  
“Miss Granger, tell no one about the journal – not your friends, not even Poppy. Once you’ve read it, you will understand.”  
  
Hermione was burning with curiosity. She wanted to go off to her room and read it right away, but Ron, Harry, and Ginny would arrive soon. She resisted the urge to read it as she walked to her rooms and put the journal under her pillow until she could return.  
  
The reunion was not what any of them had hoped. Hermione tried act normally, but it was impossible. There was nothing normal about her life anymore (not that it had been normal before). Everything had changed while she was under the curse. There were no more impossible tasks to complete. Harry and Ginny were closer than ever, and Ron had a serious girlfriend, who was not mentioned in Hermione’s presence that day.  
  
They went to the courtyard to talk, and Hermione filled the silences with questions about the rest of the Weasley family, even though she already knew most of the answers. She wanted to delay talking about the curse and her mysterious recovery as long as she could. They discussed each family member in turn, until another silence threatened to stretch on. Ron, having been unusually quiet the entire time, finally spoke up.  
  
“So…what was it like, Hermione? You know, being cursed? Did it hurt?”  
  
Hermione felt like remarking that the worst part had been not being able to punch people who deserved it, but she refrained.  
  
“Well, Ron, most days it was very boring,” she said matter-of-factly. “And no, it didn’t hurt at all. I felt perfectly fine the entire time.”  
  
Harry jumped in next.  
  
“Ginny says that nobody knows what cured you,” he said suspiciously. “Don’t you have any ideas? Doesn’t Snape?”  
  
Hermione shrugged. She would have to tell them the truth sooner or later.  
  
“No,” she said. “We don’t know. Well… Snape might know… but he isn’t going to be telling us anytime soon.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Their reactions were just what she imagined they would be. Harry and Ron immediately began disparaging Snape in their usual manner. Ginny looked furious, but said nothing, waiting for Hermione to continue.  
  
“Harry! Ron! Please!”  
  
Hermione glared at them until they simmered down and she could speak again. She took a deep breath.  
  
“The reason Professor Snape isn’t talking is that he’s currently in the infirmary, in the exact same state I was in two days ago! I recovered and he… deteriorated. We found him that way after I woke up. We have no way to communicate with him. I’ve tried, but…”  
  
The shock on their faces would have been comical if the subject were not so serious.  
  
“You mean…he’s got the curse now? He transferred the curse?”  
  
“That’s impossible!”  
  
“Okay, just listen to me, all of you!” she said to silence their sputtering. “I suppose nobody told you…”  
  
Hermione explained how she and Snape were connected by the curse, that he had not been able to leave her side without serious consequences, and that his presence had healed her again each time he returned. She told them about the Soul-Starvation Curse, and about McGonagall’s theory that the connection allowed the curse to prey on the weakest victim. When she finished, they sat in stunned silence for a few moments. Once again, it was Ron who spoke first.  
  
“Why didn’t anyone tell us about this? We’re your best friends!”  
  
The hint of a whine in his tone made Hermione’s temper flare. She had just told him that the man who had protected them as children, who had spent his entire life as a spy for the evilest wizard in centuries, and who very nearly died trying to help Harry defeat him, may spend the rest of his life in a hospital bed, as good as dead, and all Ron could think of was his own sense of entitlement.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know Ron,” she said icily. “Maybe because they didn’t want it plastered across the front page of the prophet?”  
  
His face and ears turned red with embarrassment and his opened his mouth, but had no reply. Hermione looked away from him.  
  
Harry was frowning and looking at Ginny, who ignored him and addressed Hermione instead.  
  
“How do you know that you’re still connected to him? Maybe he found a way to undo it…”  
  
“I guess I don’t know for sure,” Hermione said slowly. She would have to leave the castle sometime to find out whether they were still connected in the same way.  
  
“I had hoped that I would be able to communicate with him through Legilimency,” she said. “I was sure that I would be able to…”  
  
“Hermione, Legilimency isn’t something you can learn just like that!”  
  
Harry was looking at her as if she were insane.  
  
“I know that, Harry,” she said. “But I’ve been talking to Snape with my mind for weeks – and he’s been teaching me about Legilimency.”  
  
“Really? He taught you how to do it?” Ginny was incredulous.  
  
“Well, sort of,” Hermione amended. “He read a Legilimency book to me.”  
  
At this, Ron found his voice again.  
  
“Snape read to you?”  
  
“Yes, he did! In fact, he read to me more often than any of you did!”  
  
They all fell silent, their faces showing various degrees of shame.  
  
“Hermione – ”  
  
“Forget it – it’s fine,” said Hermione impatiently, not waiting to hear whether they would offer apologies or excuses. “The point is, I should be able to do this!”  
  
Another short silence followed, and Harry spoke.  
  
“Well… if anyone can do it, Hermione, you can.”  
  
Hermione looked at him wearily, and an idea came to her.  
  
“Harry, I need your help.”  
  
“What? How am I supposed to help?”  
  
Hermione glanced at Ginny and Ron, who waited silently and expectantly for her response.  
  
“Well, to start, you can answer a few questions – such as, did Snape always use a wand when he performed Legilimency on you?”  
  
Harry still looked confused.  
  
“Er – yeah, he did,” he said. “Why wouldn’t he?”  
  
Hermione proceeded to tell Harry all she had recently learned about wands and Legilimency.  
  
“So, basically,” said Ron loudly when she had finished, “Snape really was just having a bit of fun attacking Harry’s mind fifth year! He was making it easier for Voldemort to mess with Harry’s head, just like I always said!”  
  
Hermione shook her head.  
  
“Ron, can’t you see that it’s not that simple?”  
  
Ron, Ginny, and Harry just stared at her, apparently not able to understand why Hermione was defending Snape.  
  
“He was spying for Voldemort!” said Hermione. “He had to be careful about getting too close to Harry – even Dumbledore avoided Harry because of the connection! If Voldemort started to think he couldn’t trust Snape, he might have tried to use Harry to spy on him! And when Snape was performing Legilimency on Harry, his own mind would be vulnerable… I bet he used the wand as a sort of barrier…”  
  
Hermione’s mind raced as she analyzed the situation.  
  
“…and then there’s the problem that he couldn’t appear to be really helping Harry…”  
  
Hermione met Harry’s eyes, and noticed that he looked a bit sick.  
  
“He had to do it the way he did,” she concluded. “He had to act like he enjoyed attacking you – what other option was there? He couldn’t have even explained it properly to you, or Voldemort might become suspicious…what did he tell you about Occlumency, Harry?”  
  
Harry seemed to squirm in his seat before he answered.  
  
“He told me that Voldemort was a really powerful Legilimens,” said Harry. “And that he could use memories and feelings to tell if people were lying.”  
  
“Well, that’s true,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “though it’s much more complex than that.”  
  
“He said that I had to empty my mind and shut down my memories and feelings,” Harry continued, obviously trying very hard to remember everything that Snape had said. “But he didn’t tell me how to do it! He just attacked me!”  
  
Hermione watched conflicting emotions flash across Harry’s face – anger, embarrassment, and uncertainty.  
  
“It only got worse after he started going through my memories,” said Harry. “Well, the first time he did it, I somehow got him back with a Stinging Hex. Then he got into stuff I really didn’t want him to see… Cedric Diggory, my Mum and Dad. Seeing Cedric really got to me, and I sort of lost it. Then he got really angry and started telling me that I was weak because I couldn’t control my emotions… but if he hadn’t been so horrible about it, I might have been able to!”  
  
Hermione was silent, thinking, so Harry continued.  
  
“He said that people who are easily provoked are weak… but, what about him?! He gets provoked just looking at me!”  
  
Hermione decided to say what was on her mind.  
  
“Harry,” she said. “Those lessons couldn’t have been easy for him either, not just because he was making himself vulnerable to Voldemort, but also just because it was you. You hated him, didn’t trust him or respect him, and definitely didn’t want him in your mind even as a practice exercise.”  
  
“Guess he wasn’t such a great Occlumens after all, was he?” Ron shrugged.  
  
Hermione turned on him.  
  
“He is too, Ron! Do you have any idea how difficult Occlumency is under normal circumstances? Have you ever tried to be completely emotionless?”  
  
Hermione turned back to Harry.  
  
“I’m sure he did the best he could,” she said. “But I don’t understand why he stopped the lessons when you clearly weren’t ready. Maybe Voldemort was getting suspicious.”  
  
“Er –” said Harry, looking quite uncomfortable.  
  
Hermione waited for him to work up the nerve to say whatever was making him look like he’d just had some of Hagrid’s cooking.  
  
“I guess I never told you about that…” he said, not meeting her eyes. “The reason he stopped the lessons was… it was my fault.” Harry sighed heavily. “He threw me out of his office because I – er – saw one of his memories.”  
  
Hermione could not hold back the gasp that escaped her lips.  
  
“Harry! What memory did you see? Did you somehow manage to perform Legilimency on him?”  
  
“Er – no,” said Harry in a rush. “You see, before every lesson, he would put some memories into a Pensieve. One night, I – uh – might have looked in the Pensieve while he was out of the room. Malfoy had interrupted the lesson to tell him that they needed help getting Montague out of the toilet.”  
  
Harry raised his eyes to the shocked faces of his friends.  
  
“It was a memory about my dad,” he continued hollowly. “He was picking on Snape. He had him upside down with _levicorpus,_ in front of a bunch kids by the lake. My mother tried to stop it, and Snape called her a ‘filthy little Mudblood’.”  
  
Some anger returned to Harry’s features. “He told her he didn’t want her help.”  
  
Hermione gasped again, and was unable to keep from interrupting Harry’s confession.  
  
“Oh, Harry! That’s… no, I’m sorry... go on.”  
  
Harry just stared at Hermione, while Ron and Ginny stared at Harry.  
  
“My dad, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew were all together,” he said, spitting out the last name with disgust. “Dad and Sirius teamed up on Snape, disarmed him, and were making fun of him, hexing him, and everyone was laughing.”  
  
Ginny put her hand on Harry’s back and began to move it in slow circles. Haltingly, Harry told them everything he had seen in Snape’s Pensieve, refusing to skip any details, recounting each spell that his father and Sirius had performed on Snape that day, as well as his mother’s anger toward James.  
  
“I couldn’t understand how my parents got together,” he said fiercely. “How could she have married him? I asked Sirius and Lupin about it, and they just said that she didn’t really hate him. They started dating seventh year, and apparently Dad never stopped hexing Snape, he just didn’t do it when she was around.”  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
“Well, that explains a lot,” said Ron, finally.  
  
“It explains everything!” exploded Hermione. “It all makes sense, now! There was no way Snape could continue with the lessons after you saw that! He was already having trouble staying in control with you, and he must have been completely humiliated! Then, to see it replay in your mind at every lesson… knowing that you would either laugh at him or pity him… feeling your emotions the whole time he was in your mind…”  
  
Hermione fell silent.  
  
“I didn’t think it was funny at all!” said Harry. “I was really upset, angry at my dad... I had just found out that he was a bully and that he just as arrogant as Snape always said!”  
  
“Of course you were upset,” Hermione said. “But can’t you understand? You had trouble controlling your emotions to start with, and it would have been extremely dangerous to continue, especially when Snape was so vulnerable already. He had no choice but to stop the lessons – no wonder he was so angry! I’m sure Dumbledore was not happy with him when he found out!”  
  
Harry was now looking very pale.  
  
“Snape was right about me,” he choked out. “You were right, too, Hermione. I didn’t really try to learn Occlumency. I didn’t trust Snape. I was glad when he stopped the lessons! I ignored him when he told me to stop the dreams…and then Sirius…”  
  
With that, Harry crumpled into Ginny’s embrace. Hermione felt terrible for adding to Harry’s guilt over Sirius’ death, but she wondered that he had not already come to such conclusions on his own when he learned the truth about Dumbledore’s death and Snape’s true loyalty.  
  
“What I don’t get,” said Ginny, speaking shakily for the first time, “is why did Snape let Harry see him put the memories in the Pensieve, when he knew that Harry would be tempted to look at them if he got the chance?”  
  
“Hey, that’s true,” said Ron. “Harry wouldn’t have been able to look if he hadn’t left them sitting around!”  
  
“That’s no excuse for looking at someone’s memories!” Hermione snapped.  
  
Hermione gave Ron and Ginny an incredulous look, but endeavored to continue in a calm, reasonable tone since Harry was already upset.  
  
“Let’s see… he might not have thought that Harry knew what a Pensieve was, for one thing. They’re not very common, are they? For another, he probably wanted to keep the thoughts in the room with him during the lessons, so that someone else wouldn’t find them lying around.” Hermione’s mind was still racing. “And maybe… maybe he wanted Harry to see him remove those thoughts… as a way to make his position as a spy more believable to Voldemort. That way it would look like he was protecting Voldemort’s secrets. I wonder what else he put in that Pensieve…”  
  
Harry, who seemed somewhat recovered, appeared to be considering Hermione’s words carefully.  
  
“Come to think of it…” Harry said slowly. “I didn’t even get to see all of the memory… Snape found me before it was over.”  
  
A silence followed as they all contemplated the past and wondered what secrets Severus Snape might have been hiding from the Dark Lord.  
  
“I’m sorry, Harry,” said Hermione finally. “Let’s talk about something else. What about school? We’ll all be seventh years together, won’t we? That will be strange…”  
  
“It won’t be the same without Voldemort trying to do Harry in this time,” said Ron. “What will we do?”  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Study?”  
  
The boys groaned and rolled their eyes.  
  
“Don’t say that word, Hermione,” said Ron. “It’s just…wrong.”  
  
Hermione didn’t have the heart to argue. After all that had happened, it did seem wrong to go back to Hogwarts and have a normal school year.  
  
“Well, at least we’ll have a great Quidditch team,” said Ginny slyly, nudging Harry.  
  
“Do you think they’ll let me play again?” he asked. “I’m too old.”  
  
“Are you kidding?” said Ron. “McGonagall will be begging you to be captain, and if she’s in charge there’s nothing anyone can do about it!”  
  
“And if Snape recovers?” asked Hermione.  
  
Ron blinked at her, and opened his mouth, no doubt to say something that Hermione would not like about their former Potions professor.  
  
“If Snape’s Headmaster, I’ll be expelled before the first practice,” Harry said before Ron could get a word out. “Forget graduating!”  
  
Hermione managed a little laugh.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” she said. “If you only knew how different he is now! He would never really expel you.”  
  
But her friends would not admit that Snape was not really a nasty git. Even Ginny chimed in with the boys, saying, “He seems almost exactly the same to me, Hermione! He was only nicer to you because you saved him from a curse.”  
  
This led to uncomfortable questions about Hermione’s motives for trying to save Snape, and ended with Hermione telling them the truth about what happened; it had been an accident. They were greatly relieved to discover that Hermione had not meant to throw herself in front of Snape, but they started to call her crazy again when she said that she was glad that she had done it.  
  
They left a few minutes later, though not before making many unsuccessful attempts to get her to come to The Burrow. None of them seemed to believe that it would put Snape in danger if Hermione left the castle, and Ron even implied a few times that it was worth the risk. Hermione walked down to the gate to watch them Disapparate, smiling through a sad goodbye.  
  
Hermione had grown tired during the visit, but soon afterward her energy returned. Snape’s journal was waiting for her. Lunch was being served in the Great Hall, but Hermione walked past the doors and on to her rooms. She went straight to her bed, pulling the small black book out from under the pillow and sitting down on the bed to read, burning with curiosity.  
  
As Hermione read, she found that the journal contained exactly what she had expected. Snape had taken careful notes on the nature of their communication. There was nothing in the journal that she did not already know; it said that they were able to understand one another’s thoughts clearly and easily. In one of the earliest entries, he had noted that he could recognize her desire to sigh as it formed in her mind.  
  
It was not until Hermione was over halfway through the journal that she discovered anything surprising. In an entry that she suspected was written on the day she had visualized Snape’s voice, he wrote that she had an uncommon aptitude for mind arts, and that she might become a skilled Legilimens with practice.  
  
Excited and flattered by this discovery, Hermione scanned the next pages urgently.  
  
 _Miss Granger often surprises me with the strength and discipline of her mind. She is completely vulnerable to me during our communication, but she is generally able to keep her emotions and memories under control. Even though she knows nothing of Occlumency, I suspect that if she wanted to occlude her mind during our conversations, she would be successful.  
  
Eye contact being unnecessary almost from the start, I am now able to understand her at a considerable distance, even when she is unaware of my presence. Today I was able to discern her responses to a visitor while standing in the hall outside of her room. Although she was not directing her thoughts to me, I could sense them almost as easily as if she were…_  
  
Hermione read as fast as she could, her heart swelling with pride and hope every time he praised her mind and abilities. She had known it was true – she _was_ capable of Legilimency! But what could be wrong, that she was unable to connect with his mind? Sudden fear gripped Hermione’s chest. What if it was worse than they thought? What if he was not conscious after all?


	22. The Experiment

Hermione spent the evening reading her Legilimency books. By dinner time she had five of them open on the bed, cross-checking facts, theories, and methods. She did not want to break her concentration for a meal, but she went dutifully to the Great Hall and managed to eat enough to satisfy Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to count every bite Hermione took.  
  
At the end of the meal, McGonagall made an announcement.  
  
“Tomorrow I will make Severus’ situation known to the Ministry and the Board. It is my hope that the Minister will aid me in keeping it from the press until the ceremony on Wednesday. I have no doubt that I can depend on everyone here to keep what they know about Severus and Miss Granger to themselves until that day. Tell no one! When it is found out we will be overwhelmed by the press, and I would like to give Miss Granger some time to prepare herself.”  
  
Hermione was relieved at this news. The faculty left, Hermione following behind them, but she did not get three steps from the table before McGonagall pulled her aside.  
  
“Miss Granger, there are a few matters I’d like to discuss.”  
  
McGonagall led her back to the table, looking stern. They sat down.  
  
“I suppose the Weasleys are the only people you’ve told about Professor Snape’s condition?”  
  
When Hermione nodded, McGonagall returned the gesture curtly.  
  
“I will notify them immediately that they must keep quiet,” she said. “I might pay a visit to The Burrow tomorrow before I meet with the board.”  
  
“I think that would be a good idea,” said Hermione, embarrassed that she had not kept her mouth shut around Ron. “I would not have told them anything about Professor Snape if I had known that you wanted to keep it secret.”  
  
“I understand, Miss Granger. I did not think that secrecy would be possible for long, and therefore not the best course of action. However, that was before I knew the real nature of your communication with Professor Snape, and before I knew what faith he had in your abilities. I still do not know if the Ministry will cooperate. Klimpett may not think it worth the trouble to bury the story for four days.”  
  
It was the first time that McGonagall had mentioned the current Minister of Magic by name, and Hermione saw that she could not do so without grimacing.  
  
“We cannot cancel the ceremony without an explanation, and in any case, the Ministry will want to go through with it, whether it is Severus being honored or his successor. After the press hears of it, we will have no peace. Miss Granger, you will have no peace, and after seeing that journal, I am determined to give you as much uninterrupted time with Severus as I can.”  
  
Once again, Hermione remembered McGonagall’s strong reaction upon reading the journal. She frowned.  
  
“Professor, do you really think that I will have any success with Legilimency in just a few days?”  
  
“Yes, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, her eyes widening. “I am sure you noticed my shock when I read Severus’ notes. What he – what you both have done – is incredible. If you were able to communicate in the way that he describes, there is no question that you will succeed in becoming a Legilimens. Indeed, except for Albus and Severus, you are closer to that goal than anyone I have ever known.”  
  
“Then I will work my hardest this week,” Hermione said. “But there is one thing I will need – a new wand.”  
  
Hermione held up the worn school wand.  
  
“I can’t even perform a Levitation Charm without destroying something.”  
  
McGonagall took the wand from her and inspected it. She flicked it experimentally at the table and a goblet went hurtling halfway across the room.  
  
“Go to Ollivander’s tomorrow, then,” she said. “I know you worry about leaving Severus, but as you have already acknowledged, it is important to test your connection and see if the effects are the same as when you were the one immobilized by the curse. Madam Pomfrey will watch him carefully while you are gone.”  
  
Hermione reluctantly agreed. She would go to Ollivander’s the next day, and when she returned she would try Legilimency again. If she had to, she would use her new wand to perform Legilimency on Professor Snape. The thought made her stomach tighten with anxiety. She wished that she had not eaten so much at dinner.  
  
Hermione went to the infirmary after dinner, and McGonagall accompanied her to tell Severus the plans for the next few days. After McGonagall left, Hermione sat with him for over an hour, mostly in silence because she could not think of anything to say.  
  
Once she was back in her rooms, Hermione wrote a note to be sent to The Burrow that evening.  
  
 _Harry,  
  
If you can come to Hogwarts tomorrow, I’d really like to talk with you alone. There is something I want to ask you. I am busy in the morning, so come in the afternoon or evening if possible.  
  
Thanks,  
  
Hermione_  
  
After she made the trip to the owlery, Hermione settled down on her bed again with her books, but it was impossible to concentrate when her eyelids kept falling shut. She jumped up and stretched. A loud crack surprised her.  
  
It was Truno.  
  
“Here Miss,” said the elf a bit grumpily, handing her a note. “From the Headmistress.”  
  
With that, he was gone. Hermione read the brief message.  
  
 _Miss Granger,  
  
I will accompany you to Ollivander’s in the morning. Please be ready to leave after breakfast.  
  
M. McGonagall_  
  
Hermione swept all of her books off the bed. She picked up her little beaded bag and sat down again, opening the clasp and carefully sticking her arm inside. Feeling her way through the mess for a minute, her hand finally closed on cloth. She pulled out her favorite pajamas and sniffed them. They seemed to be clean, but she shot a freshening charm at them just to be safe. She slipped them on and began digging in the bag again, pulling out all of the clothes she could find and dumping them into a pile on the floor. Afterwards, she sorted it out into three piles – hers, Harry’s, and Ron’s. Halfway though the pile Hermione stopped and gasped. She held Harry’s invisibility cloak in her hand. Did Harry think he had lost it? It was strange to have found it in her bag, because Harry had almost always carried it with him.  
  
Hermione hung the cloak on a bedpost and quickly finished sorting the clothes. She got into bed and grabbed the beaded bag once more. By shaking it and listening carefully, she was able to locate her coin-purse, which was still quite full. She had moved all of her savings to Gringotts years ago, and withdrawn almost half of it before Bill and Fleur’s wedding – just in case. It was a lot of money to have lying around, but Hermione was now glad she would not need to make a trip to Gringotts in addition to Ollivander’s. She shook out enough coins to cover the cost of even an expensive wand and set it aside. Returning the rest to the beaded bag, Hermione slid it under her pillow and lay down, promptly falling asleep.  
  
She woke late the next morning, and only made it to breakfast in time to eat some toast before she and McGonagall had to leave. They walked down to the gate in silence. It was an overcast, hazy morning, but the mist shone like silver as the sun rose behind it. The sloping lawn was beautifully green, thanks to the recent rain. Mesmerized by the landscape that she had not been able to appreciate for so long, Hermione was surprised at how quickly they arrived at the gate. McGonagall stepped just past it and waited for Hermione to come stand beside her.  
  
“Now,” she said, pulling out her wand. “I think it will be best to Disillusion you…”  
  
“No need, Professor,” said Hermione quickly. She held up the invisibility cloak.  
  
“I can Apparate under the cloak.”  
  
McGonagall was obviously curious, but she did not ask any questions.  
  
“Very well, Miss Granger. We will Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. Do not take off the cloak until I ask you to.”  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
“I will not be accompanying you back to the school,” McGonagall continued.“So be careful not to be seen.”  
  
Again, Hermione nodded, and threw the invisibility cloak over her head. McGonagall seemed satisfied.  
  
“Shall we go, then?”  
  
With two soft pops, they were gone.  
  
They walked to Ollivander’s. Hermione was glad that the streets were nearly empty at this hour and she did not have to worry about bumping into anyone while she was invisible. She followed McGonagall closely, through the door of the tiny wand shop, and once inside she stepped back to stand against the wall as McGonagall went up to the counter and rang the bell.  
  
Mr. Ollivander appeared at once, apparently from beneath the counter.  
  
“Yes, yes, I’m right here, no need to ring that!”  
  
He noticed who was in front of him and raised his eyebrows.  
  
“Well, now, what a surprise! Minerva McGonagall! Birch, eleven and three-quarter inches, dragon heartstring. Is it something I can fix, or is it time for a replacement?”  
  
McGonagall calmly took her wand out and handed it to him. He looked it over, frowning, and cast a few spells on it.  
  
“Everything seems to be in order,” he said carefully, looking up. “What brings you here, Professor?”  
  
“Did you not receive my owl, Mr. Ollivander?”  
  
He seemed to bow slightly as he inclined his head.  
  
“I received a note this morning,” he acknowledged. “Which only said you had urgent business with me and that you request my secrecy on some matter.”  
  
“Indeed,” said McGonagall, pulling out a small leather bag and placing it on the counter.  
  
Ollivander glanced at the offering and then back at McGonagall. He placed a hand over the bag and slid it off the counter, quickly pocketing it.  
  
“Your secrets are safe with me.”  
  
McGonagall nodded.  
  
“All right, dear,” she said, looking at the spot where Hermione stood. Hermione pulled off the cloak.  
  
Ollivander did not look surprised to see someone suddenly appear in his shop. However, he was very surprised when he saw that it was Hermione who now stood against the wall, waiting for his reaction.  
  
“Ah, so it’s Miss Hermione Granger!”  
  
He shot a look at McGonagall.  
  
“This is your secret, then? You paid me too well.”  
  
McGongall smiled tightly.  
  
“Consider it a thank you from the school for years of service to our students, then,” she said. “All I ask is that you tell no one about Miss Granger until her recovery is announced.”  
  
“I have seen no one other than yourself this morning,” he replied. “And you overpaid me to polish your wand.”  
  
Ollivander slid his own wand along McGonagall’s, which he still held in his hands, back and forth three times, and then he tapped it, making it shine like new. He handed it back to McGonagall, who thanked him, and then he regarded Hermione quizzically.  
  
“You need a new wand,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Immediately.”  
  
“Yes,” Hermione smiled brightly, deciding to ignore his scrutiny. “I told Professor McGonagall that I just couldn’t wait another day. I don’t feel like a witch without my wand!”  
  
Though obviously not satisfied with her answer, Ollivander slowly turned away from the counter and started grabbing boxes from his shelves, muttering wand specifications as he went. When he disappeared behind a shelf, McGonagall cleared her throat.  
  
“I must be going, Miss Granger. I shall see you at dinner this evening.”  
  
McGonagall left. Ollivander reappeared and placed a stack of boxes on the counter.  
  
“Come, Miss Granger, you know how it’s done,” he said, holding a wand out to her.  
  
Hermione’s second wand-buying experience was much longer than the first had been. Her first wand had taken all of ten minutes to find, but this time she was in the shop for over an hour, picking up wand after wand. She had to hide under the cloak twice when other customers entered the shop, and was grateful when Ollivander hurried them out.  
  
When she re-emerged from under the cloak for the second time, Ollivander was already holding another wand for her. She grabbed it, and bright purple clouds of smoke floated lazily out of the end. She began to smile, but Ollivander took it back out of her hand.  
  
“We can do better than that,” he said, returning the wand to its box.  
  
“You mean… more than one wand will work for me?” Hermione asked, realizing immediately that it was a silly question.  
  
“Yes, of course,” said Ollivander. “Now that you know what to do with a wand, I daresay you could use just about anything for everyday magic. We’re looking for something a little more… unique.”  
  
After trying many more wands, seven of which produced some kind of half-hearted sparks, or smoke, and once, fluorescent green bubbles, Hermione chose a 12-inch, black ash and dragon heartstring wand that was ‘light, but strong – versatile,’ and which had produced her signature yellow birds as soon as she touched it.  
  
Ollivander refused to let her pay for the wand.  
  
“If not for you and Harry Potter, this shop would not be open,” he said. “Besides, your Professor has given me gold enough to buy three wands.” He patted the pocket that held the leather bag. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but her words were drowned out by a loud crack.  
  
A rather large, familiar house-elf appeared at her side.  
  
“Miss will come back to Hogwarts now,” he said without preamble. “Professor Sn-”  
  
“Truno!” exclaimed Hermione, interrupting him before he could say the name. “I was just leaving! Go on back and tell the professor that I will be there in a few minutes.”  
  
Truno glared at her.  
  
“Truno will take Miss now,” he said pointedly. “Professor Sn-”  
  
“Okay!” said Hermione loudly. “I’m ready now. Mr. Ollivander – ”  
  
Ollivander had been staring at Truno with a curious expression on his face, but now he waved Hermione out of the shop, only nodding and smiling slightly when she thanked him twice for the wand.  
  
Truno did not let Hermione reach the door before he grabbed her arm and Apparated them back to Hogwarts. They arrived in the infirmary, in Professor Snape’s room. Hermione managed to stay standing this time, though the sight of the Snape did nothing to help her weak knees. He looked like a corpse. Hermione stumbled closer to the bed, her legs stiff and unwilling to carry her there.  
  
His skin was paler than she had ever seen it, grey and dead-looking. His cheeks were sunken and the skin on his eyelids seemed paper-thin and translucent. Hermione touched his arm, and found it just as cold as she expected. Had she looked this bad when he left? It was no wonder the Healers had been so frantic the first time it had happened.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said pathetically, her vision suddenly misty. “I wasn’t gone very long.”  
  
She lay her hand over his and felt the warmth rise under her skin, growing hotter and hotter, until she remembered how uncomfortable it must be for him and jerked her hand away.  
  
“I don’t know what to do,” she said helplessly. “I guess there’s nothing to do but wait…”  
  
“It would seem so, dear.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey was somewhere behind Hermione. She came to stand by the bed as well. They watched Snape together, scrutinizing his skin for any hint of color, waiting for the rise of his chest to tell them that he would improve.  
  
Finally, Madam Pomfrey touched Hermione’s shoulder.  
  
“Why don’t you sit, Hermione. Perhaps you could read something, to pass the time.”  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
“Okay,” she agreed.  
  
Madam Pomfrey left her to continue her vigil. Hermione summoned her books and the journal, and after a second thought, her copy of _The Tales of Beetle the Bard._ She couldn’t read Legilimency books to Professor Snape – he was sure to have read them all already.  
  
Hermione struggled to read slowly, knowing that her voice did not compare to Snape’s. He did not improve as quickly as she had. It was a full hour before his breaths were perceptible again and another before they were regular. Madam Pomfrey appeared with a tray of food sometime after that and forced Hermione to eat it.  
  
“You need your strength,” Pomfrey reminded her sternly.  
  
Nodding her agreement, Hermione picked up her fork and speared a piece of potato. Madam Pomfrey only left after she had taken a few bites.  
  
The food tasted like wood chips to Hermione, but she forced it down, resolved to keep her body strong. Chewing mechanically, Hermione wondered again if he might be conscious, but too weak to seek out her mind. It was more likely he was in something like a coma. Was it even possible to perform Legilimency on a person in such a condition?  
  
Laying down her fork, Hermione took a sip from her goblet and tried to swallow.  
  
“Professor, if you can hear me…”  
  
Hermione got up and went to touch his skin again. It was still cool, though not quite as icy and colorless as it had been.  
  
“I promise I won’t give up,” she finished.  
  
Hermione was still in the infirmary that evening, reviewing Snape’s notes with a book open in her lap, when Harry arrived. She snapped Snape’s journal shut when he knocked lightly on the door. Smiling, she motioned for him to come in. Harry sat down, his eyes on Snape. The professor still had dark rings under his eyes and a sickly pallor, but his skin was warm.  
  
“Hey,” he greeted her, still staring at Snape.  
  
“Is he…?”  
  
“He’ll be fine,” said Hermione, with much more conviction than she felt. “It’s my fault that he looks like this, Harry – I went to Diagon Alley today, to Ollivander’s, because I needed a wand. I think it might help me reach him with Legilimency.”  
  
Hermione paused, looking at Snape as well.  
  
“You see what I meant when I said that I can’t leave the castle without hurting him? The connection is still there, the same as it was with me. He was stone cold when I got back, and he looked… well, he looks much better now.”  
  
Harry did not respond or take his eyes off of Snape, and he seemed lost in his thoughts.  
  
“I’m glad you came, Harry,” said Hermione. “I have a favor to ask you.”  
  
Harry did not seem to hear her.  
  
“Harry! Are you all right?”  
  
Harry glanced at her.  
  
“I’m… I… no, I’m not all right, Hermione! I’ve just had a row with Ron and Ginny… and the rest of the family.”  
  
“Over what?” asked Hermione. Harry glanced at her once more, irritated.  
  
“Because Ron’s a git and – ”  
  
He broke off, apparently censoring his speech. Hermione wondered whether it was due to her presence in the room, or Snape’s. Most likely it was Snape. Harry had never worried about what he said in front of Hermione before.  
  
“And Ginny’s decided to take his side.”  
  
Hermione thought she had a good idea of why Harry was so angry with Ron.  
  
“Harry, this is about _The Prophet,_ isn’t it?” she asked. “About how Ron gave them some of the information about me and Professor Snape.”  
  
Harry just stared at her.  
  
“Wait – you already know about it?”  
  
Hermione shrugged.  
  
“Ginny told me while I was still in the infirmary – it was the day after you two almost had a fight about Percy.”  
  
“Aren’t you angry?”  
  
Hermione considered his question thoughtfully.  
  
“I’m not as angry as I should be, or as I would have been before,” she said, frowning. “Let’s just say that Ron’s been a real disappointment lately.”  
  
She sighed, crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. It was not the time to think about Ron. She needed Harry’s help. She was about to make her request, when she had another idea.  
  
“So – er – how did you find out about it, Harry? Did Ginny tell you?” she asked.  
  
Harry shook his head, still looking angry.  
  
“Yeah – she said she felt bad about keeping it secret, but she didn’t think I was ready to hear it before. She said I shouldn’t be mad at Ron. Apparently she all but encouraged him to do it! Didn’t try to stop him! Then she defends him and tells me I’m a bad friend. Just because I don’t like his precious Padma…”  
  
Harry was now fuming.  
  
“Of course, Ron just kept saying that he only meant to talk about Snape and that the reporter tricked him into talking about you.”  
  
“Why should that matter who he was talking about?” asked Hermione, her voice rising sharply. “I suppose it’s okay if it's Professor Snape because nobody likes him. Never mind that we all owe Professor Snape so much! How could Ron be so… so… honestly! I don’t know how I didn’t see it before…”  
  
Hermione suddenly stopped talking and snapped her mouth shut.  
  
“Didn’t see what?” Harry said.  
  
“Oh, never mind,” Hermione said, glancing at Snape. She sat back up again, and studied Harry.  
  
“When did this all happen? Just now?”  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“After lunch. We all went out to play Quidditch and Ron was – er – giving Padma a flying lesson…”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, “It’s okay, Harry, really… go on.”  
  
Harry was looking at Snape again. Hermione took the opportunity to pick up her wand and hide it in the sleeve of her robe.  
  
“Ginny was mad because I laughed at them. Ron was trying to show off and she was acting like she had never had a flying lesson before, asking stupid questions…”  
  
Harry glanced at Hermione again, and she tried to hold his gaze.  
  
“She’s almost as bad as Lavender, but without all the public snogging, thank Merlin!” said Harry. “Ginny thinks she’s perfect for Ron… shows you what her opinion of her brother is…”  
  
He muttered the last part under his breath and looked away again.  
  
“Harry, look at me,” said Hermione firmly, and he did.  
  
“I don’t care about Padma and Ron,” she said, her voice even. “Just tell me what happened.”  
  
Harry studied her, obviously trying to decide if she was lying. His eyes roamed her face before meeting her steady gaze.  
  
 _Legilimens,_ thought Hermione, pointing her wand in the direction of Harry’s head.  
  
 _She saw the shock of recognition in Harry’s eyes… and then suddenly, she was watching Ron place Padma’s hands on the handle of a broom, his cheeks flushed under his freckles. Then, Ginny’s fierce brown eyes flashed in annoyance, and she flipped her hair over her shoulder. Next, Harry faced a room full of Weasleys, and Molly’s face was streaked with tears…_  
  
Hermione’s breath was knocked out of her by the spell Harry had cast at her. She grabbed her side and guiltily met his eyes, her heart already racing with excitement. Harry was wide-eyed, still holding his wand in front of him. He slowly lowered it.  
  
“Hermione… how did you…”  
  
He seemed to struggle between anger and astonishment.  
  
“Is there anything you _can’t_ do?”  
  
Hermione giggled. She felt giddy.  
  
“Of course, Harry. There are loads of things I can’t do… yet.”  
  
Harry grinned at her.  
  
“I’m sorry I hexed you,” he said. “But, Merlin! You can’t just do that to people, Hermione!”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“Is that why you wanted me to come here tonight?”  
  
“Well,” Hermione smiled apologetically. “I was going to ask your consent for the experiment… but I thought that it would be much easier if you weren’t expecting it and then when you came in, you were already upset, and I thought that would help too…”  
  
Harry’s mouth dropped open.  
  
“I’m sorry, Harry. To be honest, I didn’t think it would work. I guess the wand really helps.”  
  
Hermione spun her wand between her fingertips, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed that she had needed it to perform Legilimency.  
  
“Harry… would you mind if I tried it one more time?”  
  
Harry eyed her suspiciously.  
  
“It seems like you’ve got it down pretty well,” he said reluctantly.  
  
Hermione pulled out her wand and set it carefully on the floor between them.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
After a moment’s hesitation, Harry shrugged.  
  
“Sure, why not?”  
  
Hermione repositioned herself in her chair.  
  
“Okay. Don’t try to resist me, Harry.”  
  
He rolled his eyes.  
  
“I think we’ve already established that I’m rubbish at Occlumency,” he said. “Besides, what secrets do I have from you? Do your worst.”  
  
Hermione looked into Harry’s eyes again. She reached out to him with her mind, searching for something in the space between them. _Visualize,_ she reminded herself. She tried to imagine that the air was alive and crackling with energy, humming even – and then she no longer knew if she was imagining it.  
  
She pushed forward, her own mind tingling now as waves of energy washed over it. The feeling intensified, and her vision grew brighter. Even though she was still aware of Harry’s face looking back at her, she was overwhelmed with the sensation of staring at a lamp. And then, she felt it – Harry was anxious.  
  
The emotion gnawed at her as she wandered in its haze, losing momentum and direction. Suddenly, she saw something! A flash of flame-red hair and brown eyes, and it was gone. Then another flicker – Ron’s face this time, angry and red.  
  
Hermione waited for another image to surface – Arthur Weasley looking grim – and chased it through the haze, only to be assaulted by a full-fledged memory. Anger, hurt, and guilt flooded her mind as Harry shouted at Ginny and Ron, Padma crying quietly behind him. Molly and Arthur came running, alarmed, worried, and she could see Percy peering out from the second-story window.  
  
“Oh!”  
  
Snapping back into her own mind, Hermione collapsed backward in her seat.  
  
“Harry! The argument was really bad, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I keep making you think about it.”  
  
Harry slumped, looking at the floor.  
  
“What else do I have to think about?” he asked.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Hermione repeated. “I’ve been a terrible friend tonight. Listen… you should go back now. I’m sure they’re all worried sick…”  
  
Harry laughed.  
  
“I doubt it… Ginny’s probably burned my broom by now. She threatened to do it when I left.”  
  
“Harry, she loves you. She would never burn your broom.”  
  
Hermione was reasonably sure that she was telling the truth.  
  
“They all love you, even when you’re an idiot, even when you hurt them. Mrs. Weasley’s probably got your dinner warmed and waiting for you.”  
  
Harry did not look convinced, but he hugged her and said goodbye, managing a crooked smile. Hermione felt for him. He had been incredibly angry – she had felt it in the memory. Though she had not heard what was said, she was sure that it had been something unreasonably cruel about Padma, and probably Ron and Ginny as well. It would not be an easy night for anyone at The Burrow.  
  
Worry for Harry did not consume Hermione’s thoughts for long, because her head was already full of worry for Professor Snape. She had performed Legilimency with such ease on Harry, even without a wand – in fact, she had felt much more in control without it – that she could no longer pretend that it was her inexperience as a Legilimens that separated their minds. If he could hear her, if he was trying at all to connect with her mind as she was his, she would have found him by now. There was only one conclusion… he could not hear her.  
  
But when she looked at him, she could not believe that it was true. He was completely recovered now, and looked quite healthy again. There was a warm glow to his skin that did not naturally belong to his complexion. She remembered that Madam Pomfrey had often said that Hermione’s had ‘glowed’ and looked so well for a curse victim.  
  
Hermione climbed onto the bed and tried not to cringe away from his blank stare. She looked into his eyes and repeated the same visualizations she had with Harry, but found nothing waiting for her. She reached and reached, but no crackle of energy rewarded her efforts, not even the slightest twinge.  
  
“Professor Snape,” she whispered. “You’ve got to help me… you’ve got to help me…” Then pleading, “Please, I want to talk to you… I _need_ to talk to you.”  
  
For the briefest of moments, Hermione thought she felt something stir, like a whisper of a breeze, or a shadow in the night. Immediately excited, she waited, hoping for another sign of life.  
  
“Was that you?” she said. “I know you must be weak… keep trying!”  
  
Hermione clung to the hope that it was only weakness that kept him from answering her. She remembered how cold and empty her mind had been when he was gone – how weak her own thoughts had been at those times. Her success with Harry was nothing. He had been emotional, and anger was the easiest emotion for a Legilimens to use.  
  
Though she stayed for over an hour encouraging and pleading, Professor Snape did not answer her.  
  
At last, she shut his eyes, glad to cover the unseeing black pools that should be penetrating and shrewd. Unable to look at his somber face any longer, Hermione ran from the room. She went to her own and scrubbed the fresh tears from her face with icy water.  
  
The next two hours were spent frantically looking though every Legilimency book she could find for information about the unconscious mind. There were some short paragraphs on Legilimency and dreams, and the delicate task of working one’s way into the mind of a sleeping victim. It seemed that consciousness was the only entrance to the mind. Emotion, memory, and mental energy being expended to think and reason were necessary… without them the mind was a cold, dark, unplottable place, impossible to navigate even if it could be found.  
  
Hermione flung a book across the room and felt some satisfaction when the binding ripped. She burst into tears again.  
  
 _I think I’ve cried more over Professor Snape in the past few days than I have in my entire life, she thought. Although, if I had been able to cry at the time, Ron would have gotten his fair share as well._  
  
The unfairness of Severus Snape’s life weighed on Hermione’s heart. He had given so much for Dumbledore, for the Order, for the wizarding world, and for Hermione herself. He deserved to be free and live as happily as his memories and personality would allow. Happily ever after, Hermione thought, remembering Doe Wren’s wretched fairy tales and wondering if she had ever seen Professor Snape look genuinely happy. Perhaps ‘peacefully ever after’ would be better. But this thought reminded Hermione of the phrase “rest in peace” and that only reminded her of her grandmother’s funeral, which brought her back to her current anguish over Snape's fate.  
  
If Hermione could not help him, then nobody could. Madam Pomfey and the Healers and experts at St. Mungo’s had no hope to offer him. Even Snape, with his incredible knowledge and superior understanding of the Dark Arts had not been able to figure out how the curse worked. Even if Hermione miraculously discovered exactly how to reverse the curse, it might still be too late.  
  
Sometime later, Hermione woke up with a stuffy, aching head. If she had looked in the mirror, she knew she would have found her eyes puffy and bloodshot. A desperate hope ached in her chest, and she clawed herself upright, looking around like a madwoman, her hair a knotted, sweaty mass on her neck. She grabbed her wand and flew out of her rooms, not caring that she was only dressed in her nightclothes. It was late enough that nobody would be in the halls.  
  
She walked trance-like to the infirmary, her eyes bleary from a combination of exhaustion, reading, and crying. When she arrived, she clung to the doorframe for a moment, afraid of yet another failure. Finally, she approached the bed and stood over him, the moonlight spilling over her shoulders and illuminating half of his face. She pointed her wand at his head and closed her eyes as if in prayer for a moment. When her eyes snapped open again, she spoke.  
  
“Legilimens.”  
  
It felt like running through pudding, but the immediate shock of that sensation was nothing compared to what Hermione saw next – her own face as she fell, surprised. She knew the scene, and she had seen it before from this perspective. It was the moment they were cursed.  
  
This time, however, she also felt what he must have felt; warm, grateful, remorseful… and all for her! She could not identify exactly what she, or rather, what Snape, was feeling, but it was a good, strong, pure kind of feeling, the very best kind of feeling. Her own face seemed much more beautiful than she had ever dared to imagine it could be, and all the space around her frame seemed to be blocked out by bright, shimmering light. She looked ethereal... divine, even. If Hermione had been in her own mind, she would have blushed. The light began to overtake the vision, obscuring her shimmering face, and a new emotion began to surface in Snape’s mind. It was anger – cold, controlled and directed at Hermione.  
  
Hermione lost the vision. One moment she was watching her face fade away and the next she was staring at a black, opaque wall. A cold darkness settled around her and receded, until she was conscious of standing over the bed again in the moonlight.  
  
After a moment’s consideration, she pointed her wand again and uttered the nonverbal spell. She was thrown back into the inky darkness, cold and barren. Gathering all of her mental strength, she dove forward with force through the dark space, and was surprised by a sensation of spinning. Steady to her course, she pushed on, leapt ahead… and ran into the wall again. If it had been real, it would have been made of bricks, she decided, and she would be unconscious.  
  
Now, she was angry.  
  
 _STOP THIS!_  
  
Her thoughts reverberated between them, bouncing off the barrier.  
  
 _I know you’re there! Why are you doing this?_  
  
A rushing sensation that reminded her strangely of a hiss was the only answer. Was this her professor, or some foul, cursed thing that now inhabited his mind? There was only one way to find out. Hermione retreated again, marking the distance as she went, gauging how much force she would need.  
  
Standing again by the bed, Hermione waited. She sighed.  
  
“I don’t understand,” she said, a sob in her voice.  
  
A minute more passed, and Hermione held up her wand again. This time, she used all of her strength when she directed the spell. Her mind attacked his wildly, racing the stream of magic from her wand, and bursting through the barrier into a cold, depressed place, grim and shadowed. He was there.  
  
It took him a moment to react. In that moment of shocked recognition, she was ecstatic, and for just that moment, he was… anguished. But then he was angry, so angry that he snarled at her, grabbed her, and tossed her out with such force that Hermione dropped her wand and collapsed to the floor. Darkness closed in, welcoming and peaceful.


	23. The Legilimens

Years of practice had prepared Severus for the challenge of shielding his mind from Hermione Granger, but it still might have been the hardest bit of mind magic he had ever attempted.  
  
Severus drifted in and out of sleep while Hermione spent the rest of the night on his floor without moving or making a sound except for her shallow breathing, much like she had the first night she had found him. That first morning, he had woken to her voice.  
  
“Professor? Professor?”  
  
Severus emptied his mind and suppressed all emotion, but not quickly enough. If she had known what to look for, she might have realized what he was doing. She called for the house-elf, Truno, and they Disapparated.  
  
While she was gone, presumably explaining the situation to McGonagall, Severus had set up his defenses. His mind was still sluggish from sleep, but that made it easier to become emotionless, empty, cold, and dark. Severus was in complete control when the door to his room finally opened and the three women filed in.  
  
He sensed that Hermione was highly emotional, and he drew back, trying to avoid any contact with her mind.  
  
His strength would certainly be tested to its limits. Eventually, she would have to give up. He did not have any answers, only half-formed theories and a prophecy that did not offer a happy ending.  
  
Severus had been moved to the infirmary, though he was spared the spectacle of being paraded through the halls on a stretcher. Madam Pomfrey had called four house-elves to assist her. The tiny elves stood in a row by the bed with their hands held over their heads. Madam Pomfrey carefully levitated Severus onto their upturned palms, and they Apparated together to the infirmary. Once there, Madam Pomfrey lifted him into the bed and waved her wand at the bedclothes, which slid up over him. The last thing he had seen before she closed his eyes was the rose window. He was in Hermione’s room.  
  
It was not long before Hermione's arrival had been announced by Dumbledore’s portrait. She touched his hand, making it warm quickly.  
  
“Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you, Professor,” she said softly.  
  
Fawkes began to trill. Severus felt oddly comforted knowing that the phoenix was there.  
  
When she had finally gone to meet Ginny Weasley, Severus sank into the emptiness of an occluded and disengaged mind. With nothing but the rustling of Fawkes' feathers to distract him, time was forgotten. He did not sleep, but he was not fully awake. His current state made it much easier to keep his mind under control. Madam Pomfrey came in a few times to check on him, and gave the portrait orders to watch Severus closely while she was at dinner.  
  
Hermione had not come back that night. Severus knew it was too much to hope that she had been so easily discouraged. She would be back as soon as she had filled her belly, rested, and consulted the library.  
  
He did not sleep that night. He drifted in a half-conscious state and tried not to think about Hermione Granger. Fawkes spent some long minutes perched on the edge of the bed, making soft, short chirping noises and then disappeared, probably to the comfort of his perch.  
  
Hermione did not come back the next day, either. She was probably with her so-called friends and the rest of the Weasley family, having a happy reunion and eating too much food. All the better for her. It was exactly what he had hoped would happen.  
  
It was not until after dinner that Hermione finally returned to the infirmary. She came with McGonagall, who stepped up to the bed and spoke first.  
  
“Severus, I do hope you are in there listening. I will meet with the Minister tomorrow morning and with the Board after that. I hope for their cooperation in keeping your situation quiet until Wednesday, when I must accept the Headship in your place. Though I was skeptical at first, your notes have convinced me that if you are indeed conscious, however weak you might be at present, Miss Granger has a strong chance of reaching you in the next few days. We hope that as she rests and grows stronger, you will benefit through the connection the curse has made between you.”  
  
McGonagall paused and glanced at Hermione.  
  
“They’ll want to send the Healers, and we’ll have to let them come make an official report, at the very least. Good luck, Miss Granger. Good luck to you both.”  
  
McGonagall left them. Hermione did not try Legilimency again. She sat with him for quite a while, the silence punctuated every few minutes by a sigh. Finally, she spoke to him.  
  
“Professor, I’m reading your notes… and the journal.... and every Legilimency book I could find in your library. I really am trying. I have to believe that you are conscious. I have to be able to reach you. We _will_ find a way to break this curse. I can't leave you like this.”  
  
“Ah! Miss Granger! It is so good to see you from a new angle at last!”  
  
Dumbledore’s portrait had interrupted her impassioned speech. Severus saw her flash a small smile at the portrait that hung over his head.  
  
“It’s good to be up,” she said. “It would be better if Professor Snape wasn’t lying there in my place.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry!” said the portrait cheerfully. “He’ll be up again in no time. Severus is strong!”  
  
Hermione had simply shaken her head and given the portrait a sad look.  
  
“Apparently he's not at the moment. Now he's depending on me.”  
  
She sighed.  
  
“Goodnight, Professor.”  
  
She slid out of her chair and closed his eyes before she left. She did not return the next morning, causing him to wonder how long she might have stayed up reading the night before and how much closer she was to discovering the truth about her abilities.  
  
Madam Pomfrey came in near breakfast time, fussing with the bedclothes, dismayed at the state of his hair.  
  
“I know what you need,” she said, pointing her wand at his head. With a cold rush of air, his hair felt like it was standing on end. The woman was fluffing his hair with a pillow-plumping charm! If had not been not incapacitated, he would probably have thrown her wand out of the window. She frowned, no doubt disappointed with the result.  
  
“Well.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey left, talking to herself under her breath. Dumbledore’s portrait resumed its snoring. Severus sunk back down into the icy depths of a firmly occluded mind. Minutes later, some movement at the foot of the bed caught his notice. Truno the house-elf appeared by his bedside, his large eyes fixed on Severus. He did not move an inch until ten minutes later, when Madam Pomfrey popped her head into the room.  
  
“There you are, Truno. You’re earlier than I expected.”  
  
The elf shuffled around to face her.  
  
“Winky say Truno is making her want to iron his ears and he better gets out of the kitchen now,” he offered by way of explanation. Madam Pomfrey accepted it with a nod.  
  
“Well… all right, Truno. You may stay with Professor Snape until I'm done. It may be a few hours.”  
  
Truno nodded and resumed his stance, staring at Severus. Severus assumed that Pomfrey was either brewing a few standard healing potions to restock her stores, or processing the dried Frentinagus pods Pomona had given her earlier in the week in preparation for brewing aforesaid potions. He knew she hated brewing, and would not have minded the task himself.  
  
It was not long before Severus realized that his body had become as cold as his mind. His breaths became shallow and slowed until they were nearly imperceptible. He heard Truno shift his weight, and saw the elf’s eyes widen just before he Disapparated with a crack, gone to bring Hermione back from wherever she was. The Burrow, undoubtedly.  
  
Feeling sluggish, Severus let his thoughts dissolve into emptiness. It was much easier to control his mind in this state. The walls he had put up felt stronger, even though he felt weaker. They were cold, hard, and as impenetrable as stone. He drew back from them, into the smallest space imaginable. He hibernated, no longer aware of the world outside of his own head.  
  
She returned to castle and his bedside minutes later, but to Severus it might have been hours. Her warm presence hovered somewhere in the distance, but he ignored it. Then she touched him, but even the shocking warmth that built up under her hand did not reach him. It registered in his mind that he could feel it, but it was so far away that it might have only been a memory. Severus stayed huddled behind his walls, the great stone protectors that would keep her out and keep her safe.  
  
She removed her hand and he was relieved to be rid of the annoyance of her touch. Her presence bothered him, like a fly determined to land on his face while he tried to sleep.  
  
Slowly, the cold began to fade. He realized that she was speaking. She was reading to him. He could not help but catch some of the words. It was some kind of story book. From the sound of the pages when she turned them, it was old.  
  
Madam Pomfrey came to force a tray of food on her. He could smell it, and noticed that he was breathing steadily again.  
  
The space between Severus and his walls dwindled. They were not cold stone anymore. They were something more pliable and much thinner. If he was not careful, they would soon be nothing more than curtains. He fought the encroaching warmth, but lost a lot of ground when she touched him again.  
  
“I promise I won’t give up,” he heard her say. He recoiled from her voice and with great mental effort refortified his walls, piece by piece. She would have to give up eventually.  
  
The sun was setting when Hermione’s bedside vigil was finally interrupted by Potter. Severus had never been so happy to see Potter walk into a room. Surely she would leave at last.  
  
Instead, Hermione closed her book and waved Potter into the room.  
  
“Is he…?” Potter asked, nodding at Snape. The boy was as articulate as ever.  
  
Hermione admitted that the reason she had left the castle was to get a new wand, with which she would attempt Legilimency.  
  
Severus was drawn farther out of his self-imposed prison at her words. Well, she had said that she was reading Legilimency books, so it was not surprising that she would come to that conclusion. He was not looking forward to being on the receiving end of Legilimency performed through a wand, especially since Hermione was fully capable of reaching his mind without the implement.  
  
“I’m glad you came, Harry,” she said. “I have a favor to ask you.”  
  
Severus knew what that favor would be. She was already slyly reaching for her wand with a determined look on her face. As usual, Potter was oblivious to anyone but himself, and had started to complain about the Weasleys, his anger building enough that even Severus could feel the tension from inside his barricade. Potter would make it absurdly easy for her to enter his mind.  
  
“… let’s just say that Ron’s been a real disappointment lately.”  
  
Her voice betrayed some anger when she spoke about the Weasley boy, but it was controlled. She was suppressing her emotions, preparing to attack Potter’s mind. Hermione was about to learn that she was not a deficient Legilimens after all, and Potter was in for quite a surprise.  
  
As Potter elaborated on his fight with the Weasleys, she stared intensely at him, trying to hold his gaze, grasping her wand.  
  
“Harry, look at me. I don’t care about Padma and Ron. Just tell me what happened.”  
  
Potter obeyed, and Hermione’s wand pointed slightly upward, toward the boy’s head. She was successful, of course. Potter’s wide, surprised gaze turned vacant as she entered his mind. An instant later, Potter’s arm jerked as he cast a spell at her. It was a shame that Potter had neither the inclination nor the discipline to master Occlumency, because his strength of mind was promising.  
  
They stared at one another, Potter in astonishment, and perhaps awe, Hermione excited.  
  
She was not finished with Potter. She put her wand down and successfully found her way into Potter’s mind without it. With this goal accomplished, she sent Potter to face Molly and her brood back at The Burrow.  
  
Severus prepared his mind for an attack, but none came. She stood by the bed for a while, silent. Then she climbed onto it and peered at him, the determined look back on her face. She reached out to him with her mind, but he was not there to meet her. He was far away, safe behind his walls.  
  
“Professor Snape,” she whispered, and he had never wanted anything more than to answer her. It would be the most natural thing, much easier and much pleasanter than resisting.  
  
She begged him to answer her, terrified that he was unconscious. She was near tears again, he realized. He hated tears.  
  
His rebellious heart quickened – or would have, if it was not cursed to beat a perfect, steady rhythm in his chest underneath the hand she had placed there, which bore more and more of her weight as she leaned closer to him. He nearly crashed through the walls then, inexplicably drawn to her presence, but he turned back immediately, spinning a tight circle in his tiny mind-dungeon. Her eyes widened and darted back and forth, as if searching his face for movement.  
  
“Was that you?” she said. “I know you must be weak… keep trying!”  
  
She stayed, pleading, still hoping and searching in the dark for him, but he was in control now, curled up in his dark cave like a hibernating bear while she wandered out in the cold. Finally she gave up for the night and closed his eyes. He welcomed the change – it was much easier to ignore the outside world when he could not see it.  
  
For the first time since he had been moved to the infirmary, he slept soundly. As usual, he dreamed of Hermione saving him from the curse. She was as lovely as ever as she fell.  
  
His dream was interrupted that night by the sudden presence of the real Hermione in his room, her mind invading his without warning.  
  
She had caught him at his weakest, whether by design or by chance, he did not know. Crashing into his dream, she gawked, no doubt astonished to see her dream-self in his mind. He closed the walls around himself once more, shutting her out. She barged into his mind again, only momentarily confused by the dark curtains he had erected in maze-like fashion. She soon ran into the wall behind them with force, anger and frustration rolling off of her in waves.  
  
 _STOP THIS! I know you’re there! Why are you doing this?_  
  
His own anger was barely under control. It seemed to rush from him and pour over the walls. His cold rejection hit her, hissing and crackling when it did. She retreated quickly.  
  
Minutes passed in silence as he waited for her to try again. Finally, she sighed.  
  
“I don’t understand,” she said, near tears again.  
  
More minutes passed. Severus thought she had given up, and was not ready when she blasted through his mind's barriers with more strength than he would have thought possible. Then she was there with him, triumphant and excited to see him. He had failed. He must keep her out, keep her safe!  
  
A second’s hesitation was all he allowed himself. He threw her out again, his anger at himself white-hot and consuming. His failed dungeon was incinerated, reduced to smoldering ashes that seared his mind the rest of the night.  
  
Hermione fainted, either from shock or from mental exhaustion. In the morning, Madam Pomfrey found her.  
  
“Oh dear! Miss Granger!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” were her first hoarse words. “I came back last night because I forgot something… I think I was half asleep when I got here, I must have passed out right on the floor!”  
  
“Indeed! How do you feel, Miss Granger? Perhaps you should stay in bed today.”  
  
“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” protested Hermione. “I’m fine, really. I used to sleepwalk at home, and I was always waking up in strange places. I’ll just go back to my rooms now and get ready for breakfast.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey fussed over Severus a bit and opened his eyes.  
  
“Severus Snape,” she said, shaking her head.  
  
“I think you have made quite an impression on Miss Granger. I saw how often you sat with her when you thought I wasn’t around... she’ll not soon forget that kindness. As for me, it warmed my heart to see it, though at times I did worry that you were going mad and worrying her to death with your theories.”  
  
Severus was in a foul mood when Hermione returned after breakfast. Her mind was no longer open to him. She was guarding it, and he could not tell what she was feeling as she sat silently in the chair by the bed with a book open on her lap, not reading but staring at the far wall. He wondered if she was afraid him. She was probably trying to work up the courage to try Legilimency again.  
  
Hermione did not try to talk to him that morning. She read her book without speaking a word, not even when Dumbledore’s portrait asked her how Potter and the Weasley girl were getting on. She just glanced at the portrait, then shook her head and sighed.  
  
Sometime later, Madam Pomfrey returned.  
  
“There you are, dear,” she said to Hermione, sounding nervous. “I thought you had gone back to your room.”  
  
“No, I’ve been here the whole time,” said Hermione quietly.  
  
“Well,” said Pomfrey. “I suppose we can just get both of you done with right now…”  
  
“Madam? Madam Pomfrey, where have you – ah! I see you’ve found her!”  
  
It was Healer Minkas, the pudgy, saggy-faced Healer that Severus had verbally abused a few times before. He had an indolent voice that became a high-pitched stutter when he was provoked.  
  
Minkas was staring at Hermione lazily, an expression he often wore, on account of his left eyelid always being slightly lower than his right one. His attitude was arrogant; he made sure everyone knew that he oversaw a team of six Healers at St. Mungos, including three diagnostic Healers, a ‘Dark Spells’ specialist, and two resident Healers.  
  
“Miss Hermione Granger,” he said, extending his hand toward her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”  
  
They shook hands briefly, and Hermione crossed her arms. She gave him no greeting. After an uncomfortable thirty seconds, Minkas asked Madam Pomfrey to bring Severus’ chart.  
  
Pomfrey summoned it, and held to out to him, but the Healer did not take it.  
  
“Please sit, Miss Granger,” he said, brandishing his wand. “I will examine you first, and then you can be on your way.”  
  
 _You mean ‘out of the way’? I don’t think so._  
  
Hermione’s thoughts were broadcast to Severus once again.  
  
“Actually, I’d rather you looked at Professor Snape first,” she said sweetly. “He’s the one in the hospital bed. I feel perfectly fine.”  
  
Minkas flipped through a few pages on Severus’ chart.  
  
“Nonsense, Miss Granger. A ten-minute delay will make no difference to him. Come now, fifteen minutes at the most, and you’ll be done.”  
  
“Healer Minkas.” Hermione’s voice took on a tone normally reserved for lecturing her fellow students on class material. “I’ve been worrying constantly since this happened and I would feel much better if you would see to Professor Snape first. If you won’t, then I refuse to let you check me at all. I still have that right.”  
  
Minkas raised his eyebrows at her.  
  
“The Ministry has requested an official evaluation from St. Mungo’s for both of you, Miss Granger.”  
  
“But they can’t force me to give it,” she said, sounding uncertain. Minkas began to look smug.  
  
“They can, Miss Granger, and they will if I tell them it’s necessary. How else will I help Professor Snape, if I can’t examine the only other person who has recovered from this mysterious curse?”  
  
“Healer Minkas,” interrupted Madam Pomfrey at last. “It hardly matters when Miss Granger is examined. She is my patient, and I will not have you upsetting her after what she’s been through. I too, ask that you see to Severus first.”  
  
Minkas turned his glare to Madam Pomfrey, his dark, prominent eyes evaluating this new challenge to his authority while the corners of his mouth turned down in disdain.  
  
“Very well,” he said at last. “Sit, Miss Granger. I can’t have you hovering about while I work.”  
  
He began performing his routine, flourishing his wand just a bit more than was necessary. Once, he accidentally hit Severus in the nose.  
  
“Well, Madam,” he said as he was finishing. “I’ll have my team in tomorrow to take a look as well. Now, Miss Granger, it is your turn.”  
  
Hermione submitted to her examination with a sigh and stared blankly at the wall during its entirety, answering Minkas’ questions with a stiff ‘yes’ or ‘no’ unless he demanded more.  
  
“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked when he was done. “Nothing to fuss about!”  
  
He scribbled on his clipboard as he spoke.  
  
“I want you to be here tomorrow as well, Miss Granger,” he said. “The rest of my team – hopefully all six of them – will need to see you.”  
  
Hermione sighed again.  
  
“What time can we expect them?” Madam Pomfrey asked. Minkas frowned.  
  
“I can’t promise anything. St. Mungo’s is a busy place, and we’re working on several delicate cases at the moment.”  
  
When the Healer left, Madam Pomfrey patted Hermione’s shoulder and left her alone with Severus again.  
  
“What did he look so happy about?” Hermione wondered aloud. “He’s probably off to give an interview to _The Prophet._ ”  
  
A few minutes later, she left. Severus spent the rest of the day listening to Dumbledore’s portrait reminisce about the war and make predictions about what the next few years would bring.  
  
“No, Harry will never be Minister of Magic,” it concluded. “He would never accept it, however often it may be offered, or begged, of him. He’ll marry Miss Weasley before long and start a family. It’s what he’s always wanted.”  
  
Severus wondered if the portrait had been present when Potter relayed the recent events at the Weasley household to Hermione. If Ginny Weasley had followed through on her threat to burn Potter’s broom, she was not likely to be forgiven anytime soon. Though Severus would be tempted to hex the next Weasley he saw, the thought of Potter coming home to a Firebolt-fueled bonfire was entertaining.  
  
McGonagall visited that afternoon. The Ministry had been cooperative, for once, and was keeping their secret until the official announcement was made and McGonagall became Headmistress.  
  
“I still expected to see it in the paper this morning,” she admitted. “But so far they’ve kept their end of the deal.”  
  
Her end of the deal was to promise one-on-one exclusive interviews to _The Prophet_ with both herself and Hermione after the story broke.  
  
“I thought Hermione would be angry about it,” she said. “But she seems distracted today. I don’t think she’s getting enough sleep. Perhaps you know that Poppy found her in here this morning, asleep on the floor. Sleepwalking, she said. It’s not surprising that she came here in her sleep. She’s been studying Legilimency tirelessly. I hear that she had some success practicing on Potter.”  
  
McGonagall sighed.  
  
“I hope she is soon successful, and I hope that you have some answers for us. The school needs you, Severus. You have no idea what a relief it was to me when you accepted the headship. There’s still the Defense position to fill, and I must choose well since I’m informed that it is no longer cursed and we can’t be rid of them at the end the year as usual. I have an idea to ask Kingsley Shacklebolt if he will teach the sixth and seventh years. He’s been doing a lot of paperwork at the Ministry lately, and said the other day that if he doesn’t soon see the outside of his office he’ll quit. Klimpett’s burying him in paperwork, making sure he can’t win any more public favor. He knows Kingsley was also a favorite for Minister.”  
  
“Ah, yes, Kingsley Shacklebolt!” exclaimed Dumbledore’s portrait. “The next Minister of Magic, without a doubt.”  
  
McGonagall glanced at the portrait.  
  
“With Kingsley teaching the upper years, I can hire a fill-in professor for the rest. If they do well, they can take the full position the next year. I suppose I will have to hold interviews after all.”  
  
Severus realized how much McGonagall was showing her age. She looked small and worn, adjectives that he had never associated with the Gryffindor Head of House. There were more wrinkles in her face than he remembered, and a bit more grey streaked her hair, still worn in its proper bun. Her brusque, springing step was more often a measured pace now, as it was when she left the room.  
  
The day wore on. Fawkes returned for a few hours, occasionally unleashing a stream of irritated squawks at Severus as he perched on the back of the chair by the bed and preened. Hermione came back after dinner. She did not have a book in her hands and she did not sit down in her chair by the bed. Instead, she went to look out of the rose window, sighing a few times. It was not until she sniffed rather loudly that Severus realized that she was crying again.  
  
She was at his bedside now, wringing her hands and frowning slightly.  
  
 _Severus Snape? Can you hear me, Severus? SEVERUS!_  
  
Hermione closed her eyes, still frowning. Her lashes were wet with tears.  
  
 _What has this curse done to you? Why didn’t it hurt me? You are either not there, or you are not yourself. I don't know what to do._  
  
Severus hissed at her in reply. If he had to frighten her away, so be it.  
  
 _Hello? Is that you?_ she demanded, advancing hesitantly. _Let me see you!_  
  
Severus was back behind his walls before she knew what had happened. Her mental shudder of fear rippled through his mind.  
  
 _Where are you hiding? What's happened to you? I’ll find you…_  
  
She came up to the wall and touched it gently, a warm caress.  
  
 _PROFESSOR! SEVERUS! ARE YOU IN THERE?_  
  
Severus pulled an image of Voldemort from his mind, his snake-face contorted in rage, and flung it at her, snarling, hissing, and shoving her out of his mind yet again. This time she did not collapse. She swayed a little on her feet, eyes still closed. When she opened them, fresh tears escaped.  
  
She placed her hand on his and left it there for a few minutes. Severus tried to ignore the warmth radiating from the spot, threatening to melt away his resolve. It must have reassured her that there was still something human left in him, because she smiled sadly and said, “I’ll come back tomorrow, Professor Snape.”  
  
She returned early the next morning, stayed until breakfast, and returned immediately after. The Healers made an appearance before lunch and repeated their useless tests and spells, scribbling notes and conferring in whispers just outside of the room. Hermione remarked that they seemed excited about something, but when she asked them if they had discovered anything new, they said they had not.  
  
She tried once more to find Severus, but he did not repeat his theatrics. He simply hid from her and prepared himself in case she made another attack on his mind.  
  
That evening, she was surprised by another visit from Potter. After greeting him with a crushing hug, she led him out of the room, asking about ‘Gin’ and ‘Ron’. Potter began talking animatedly, and they were soon out of earshot.  
  
Alone at last, Severus settled into his dark cave. She would be back tomorrow, of course. She would not abandon him yet.


	24. The Phoenix Part One

On Monday the team of Healers came. They treated Hermione like a child while they examined her and then they moved into the hall to talk in whispers. Hermione edged over to the doorway and peeked around the frame.  
  
Leatherby, the Dark spells specialist, was gesturing forcefully as he spoke. Flores, one of the resident Healers, listened with her arms crossed, shaking her head. The other resident Healer, Jenkins, stood beside Leatherby, nodding every now and then. Hermione had not learned the names of the other three Healers: a thin witch with wispy blond hair in a bun and a lined face, and two wizards. One was balding and blinked too often. The other wizard was young and very attractive: tall and broad-shouldered, with short, mussed hair, and dimpled cheeks. He kept interrupting the others, especially Flores, who glowered at him unheeded each time. Finally, he looked up and caught Hermione watching them. He frowned and checked his watch.  
  
“Minkas will be expecting us soon,” he said, silencing Flores once again. “Perhaps we should continue this discussion back at the hospital.”  
  
The others followed his gaze to Hermione, who had not moved from the door. She stared back at them.  
  
“Fine,” said Flores. “Let’s go.” She turned to the blond woman and muttered, “It looks like we’ll have time to get some lunch after all, Dot.”  
  
The infirmary was quiet again when they left. Hermione spent another lunch listening to Hagrid’s enthusiastic storytelling. She nodded at intervals and laughed along with him when it was appropriate, but her mind was blank and dusty like an old chalkboard. After lunch she sat by Snape’s bed and stared, her thoughts moving slowly in her mind, sludgy and cold. There was something wrong with Snape. There was something wrong with his mind.  
  
Since collapsing on the infirmary floor the night she had been forcibly thrown from Snape's mind, Hermione had felt like a zombie. She ran into things and tripped over her own feet. She found it hard to hear people when they talked to her, as if they were speaking from the end of a long tunnel instead of standing right next to her. Food had no taste, but she ate to satisfy Madam Pomfrey, whose watchful eye never left Hermione at meals.  
  
Hermione knew that she should tell Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall that she had finally succeeded with Legilimency. She should tell them that Professor Snape was not himself, and that all she had found in Snape’s mind was angry, spitting, hissing darkness. Hermione shivered at the memory. That had been the first few times she had tried. Now there was only cold silence.  
  
Hermione’s arm started to ache and she realized that she was still holding a book in her right hand. She had taken it out of her bag and forgotten to lay it on her lap. She dropped it back into the bag, which she threw over her shoulder as she stood up. She would go to Professor McGonagall and explain everything. Hermione left the infirmary with the intention of finding McGonagall, but halfway there she changed her mind and went to the library instead.  
  
Madam Pince was visiting her ailing sister and had not yet returned to Hogwarts. McGonagall had given Hermione a key to the library, admonishing her to leave everything exactly as she found it and not to breathe a word about it to anyone. Hermione held the key in her fist as she walked through the halls. The metal teeth dug into her palm, but she only gripped it tighter. She stopped in front of the library doors.  
  
After a few minutes without seeing Mrs. Norris or detecting Filch’s shuffling step, Hermione placed the key in the lock and turned it. The key warmed and glowed faintly, and the doors swung open to reveal Hermione’s sanctuary. The smell of old books greeted her. She inhaled and stepped inside. Then she shut the doors, sealing out the rest of the castle.  
  
Hermione, keeper of the key until Madam Pince returned, had access to every book in the library. She went straight to the darkest shelf of the Restricted Section and walked slowly down the aisle, browsing the titles.  
  
“ _Possession_ ,” she read quietly, halfway through the third shelf. A hiss crept up from her memory, and a flash of Voldemort’s face.  
  
Hermione pulled the book off of the shelf. It resisted, making a horrible scraping sound when she pried it from the book next to it, _Powers of Possession._  
  
The book was thick and heavy with yellowed, sour-smelling pages. Hermione opened the cover and flipped past the first blank page. The second page was blank as well, and she flipped it over to reveal a third blank page. She was about to flip this page over, when black ink appeared in the center, slowly darkening and curling into letters.  
  
 _The words in this book are not fit for study and shall not be read hereafter. Thus says the King, in the third month of the eighth year of the rule of the Donryande._  
  
Hermione flipped through the rest of the book. Every page was blank.  
  
 _Why didn’t they just destroy it?!_ Hermione wondered, irritated that the Hogwarts library contained such a waste of space on its shelves.  
  
The other book, _Powers of Possession,_ had little to offer as well. It was about the connection between magical folk and their familiars, and all the ways it could be manipulated – or abused, as Hermione saw it. There was nothing about possessing people. When she thought about it, Hermione was not sure what it meant to possess another person. Was it possible?  
  
Ginny had been possessed by Tom Riddle’s diary, or rather, controlled by various Dark spells that allowed the piece of Voldemort’s soul residing within to communicate with her. Quirrell had been possessed by the bodiless Voldemort. Harry had also been possessed by Voldemort, but the Dark Lord had only tried it once, and a piece of his soul had already been inside Harry's head. Dark objects could possess their owners in a way, warping their minds and emotions. The Imperious Curse controlled a person’s mind, but there was a difference between being controlled and being possessed, wasn’t there?  
  
There were no answers to Hermione’s questions in the book, just a small paragraph about an old superstition that said sometimes the spirits of the dead who did not choose to pass on were able to possess animals instead of appearing as ghosts.  
  
Hermione returned the books to the shelf and continued her search, not knowing what she was looking for. She scanned _The Century’s Cruelest Curses_ hopelessly. She had to tell McGonagall about Snape.  
  
Hermione walked slowly back to the infirmary. When she got there, McGonagall was standing by Snape’s bed.  
  
“Professor McGonagall, I was just looking for you,” Hermione said.  
  
“And I you, Miss Granger,” replied McGonagall. “I have some rather unfortunate news.”  
  
 _Me too,_ thought Hermione.  
  
“Is it – something to do with the Healers?” Hermione asked. She sat down and stared at Snape.  
  
“No, I haven’t heard anything from them yet,” said McGonagall dismissively. “Miss Granger, have you read the paper today?”  
  
Hermione shook her head.  
  
“Well, if you had, you would know that there was nothing in it about you and Severus. The Minister has given us silence until Wednesday, and _The Prophet_ has agreed as well – but their silence comes at a price.”  
  
Hermione tore her eyes from Snape to look at McGonagall. She watched her mouth move, but a rushing sound in her ears momentarily blocked out the words.  
  
“...agreed to give them exclusive interviews with you and myself, following the announcement on Wednesday morning.”  
  
Hermione nodded. She would expect nothing less from _The Prophet._  
  
“Also...” McGonagall hesitated. “I have a request to make of you, which you have the right to refuse.”  
  
“Uh – yes, Professor?”  
  
“I would like you to make an appearance at the ceremony on Wednesday before I accept the position as Headmistress. I will do all the talking. You needn’t say anything. It will reassure the public that you are well and keep the press from harassing us day and night for pictures.”  
  
“Okay,” said Hermione.  
  
“Don’t worry, you won’t be away from the castle for long,” said McGonagall, looking at Snape. She lapsed into thoughtful silence. Now was the time to tell McGonagall the bad news. Hermione opened her mouth to say, “There’s something wrong with Professor Snape,” but before she could speak, a large owl flew into the room and dropped a letter onto Snape’s bed. It was addressed to Professor McGonagall. The owl waited until she had picked it up, and then let out a screech and flew away.  
  
McGonagall opened it. Her brow furrowed more and more as she read. Hermione waited silently until she finished and pushed her spectacles back into place, looking very tired.  
  
“I’m afraid I must answer this immediately. I believe you said you wanted to speak with me – is it something that can wait until this evening?”  
  
“Er… yes,” said Hermione, guiltily relieved to have an excuse to put off telling McGonagall about Snape.  
  
Folding the letter up, McGonagall hurried out of the room. Hermione took a walk down to the lake and then went to knock on Hagrid’s door. He was out, probably in Hogsmeade or running an errand in Diagon Alley. Hermione walked listlessly back to the castle and went to her rooms, but she did not stay there for more than ten minutes. It was too quiet. All she could hear was her own breathing and her heartbeat swooshing in her ears. She returned to the infirmary with a book as usual, but she did not read. Instead, she watched Snape lie there in the bed as still as death, a breathing statue.  
  
His hair looked strange, like someone had aggressively brushed it recently – it was a bit fluffier than normal. Madam Pomfrey was probably behind it, Hermione decided. The corners of her mouth turned up a little. Snape would be furious if he knew… if he knew. Hermione touched her own hair. She had not spent any time on it since she woke up, and it was a frizzy mass of untamed curls once again. She was indifferent to the state of her hair.  
  
She planned to talk to McGonagall after dinner that evening, but the Headmistress was not there. Madam Pomfrey had a nasty headache and was taking her meal in her rooms. Hermione went back to the infirmary and continued her vigil. She did not know whether minutes or hours passed. All she knew was the sleeping face of Professor Snape and the cold emptiness of his mind.  
  
“Hermione!”  
  
She jumped when she heard Harry’s voice. He stood in the doorway and whispered to her, as though he was afraid he might wake Professor Snape. Hermione’s mood improved magnificently at the sight of Harry’s smile.  
  
“Harry!” she cried, and went to hug him fiercely.  
  
“Er – Hermione… are you okay?”  
  
“How did everything go with Gin and Ron?” she asked, ignoring his question and leading him out of the room. “You didn’t have another fight, did you?”  
  
Harry avoided her eyes.  
  
“Well… yeah, we did, actually.”  
  
“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry. What happened?”  
  
“I went back to The Burrow and just stood outside for a while. Mr. Weasley came walking out of the garden and scared me. I might have stayed on the porch for an hour if he hadn’t talked me into going inside. I was just glad that he wasn’t mad because of what I’d said to Mrs. Weasley.”  
  
Hermione started to ask what he had said, but Harry quickly continued the story.  
  
“Ginny threw a pudding at my head when I walked in,” he said. “But she missed, and I knew then that she wasn’t too angry. So then we had a huge row about Ron and Padma and _The Prophet._ Ron came back from Padma’s and started in too. I think Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had to cast a silencing charm on Ginny’s room while we were in there.”  
  
“Did you get anything sorted out, then? What did Ron have to say for himself?”  
  
“Well, he had a lot to say, but he didn’t apologize until this morning. He just kept saying that he hadn’t meant to say anything about you, and that it just ‘slipped out’. I don’t know if I believe him. Ginny does.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “Knowing Ron, it’s probably the truth. He never thinks before he speaks, but then again… neither do you, Harry.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe… why aren’t you angrier about this, Hermione?”  
  
She shrugged.  
  
“I had a lot of time to think about it after Ginny told me,” she said. “And honestly, Harry, I knew about Ron and Padma for much longer than you give me credit for. It was… painful for a while, but I’ve decided that Ginny is right. Ron’s not good enough for me.”  
  
“She said that to you?”  
  
“Er – yes.”  
  
“And she gave me grief for saying that you were a worth ten of Padma!”  
  
Hermione smiled.  
  
“When did you say that?”  
  
“When Ron told me that Padma was the most amazing girl he’d ever met.”  
  
“He said that?!”  
  
“Er – yeah, quite a few times, actually.” Harry made a face.  
  
Hermione laughed. “Is she really that bad?”  
  
Harry considered the question for a moment.  
  
“It’s more the effect she has on Ron that’s disgusting,” he said. “He’s a different person now.”  
  
Suddenly, he shook his head.  
  
“I’m sorry, Hermione, we don’t have to talk about Ron.”  
  
“Harry, I want to talk about Ron – I want to talk about anything and everything, now that I can finally talk!”  
  
Harry just continued to stare at his shoes. They had come to the courtyard. Hermione sat down and waited for him to join her.  
  
“Look, Harry, we’re _all_ different people now. I feel like it’s been ten years since our sixth year. You’re different, Ginny’s different, the entire Weasley family is different. Things are going to keep on being different, and if you think about it, our lives were never really normal in the first place.”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“Especially yours.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure life is still going to be complicated, even without Voldemort. We can’t expect… we probably won’t ever be as close as we were at school, or last year. You have Ginny now and no excuses to push her away. Ron has Padma, and I’m – I’m happy for them.”  
  
Hermione wondered if Harry heard the slight shake in her voice.  
  
“We’re not a trio anymore. We finished our mission. We have to let other people into our lives now,” she said. “We should accept Padma, Harry. I don’t want to make Ron choose between his girlfriend and his best friends.”  
  
Harry was silent for a minute.  
  
“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you, Hermione?”  
  
“Well, yes, Harry. I did a lot of thinking in that hospital bed.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Hermione. We didn’t visit enough.”  
  
“It was enough,” she assured him. “Besides, Snape was there all the time.”  
  
“Really? All the time? I’m sorry, Hermione.”  
  
“He couldn’t exactly leave, Harry. We’re connected by the curse, remember?”  
  
“I know, but – did he talk to you?”  
  
“Yes, quite a lot, actually. He read books to me.”  
  
“I still can’t believe that.”  
  
Hermione smiled.  
  
“I guess I wouldn’t either, if I were you – you don’t know what he’s really like, Harry.”  
  
Harry mock-shuddered.  
  
“I know that he hates me and he hated my father. I don’t need to know anything else.”  
  
Hermione could not deny that Snape had hated Harry from the beginning. Harry began to question her.  
  
“So, were you able to talk to him yet? Did he tell you what’s going on? What happened? What did he do to make you better?”  
  
“Harry, I tried, but he’s – ”  
  
Suddenly confronted with cold, crushing reality, Hermione stammered and felt a lump rise in her throat.  
  
“I can’t talk to him,” she whispered. “There’s something wrong with him.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“He doesn’t answer. I know I’m getting into his mind, but I can’t hear him, see him, or sense him, Harry. There’s just empty darkness, and no thoughts, no emotions, nothing!”  
  
“You mean he’s… you think that he’s… dead?”  
  
“No!” Hermione shook her head violently. “No, he’s not dead. There’s something there, always slipping away from me. Once, I thought I saw – I did see – Voldemort. A memory of him, I guess. I think Snape might be in a coma, or something like it.”  
  
Harry looked at the floor again.  
  
“So, what are you going to do?”  
  
“I’m going to tell McGonagall. There’s nothing else to do. I’ve tried and tried and still there’s nothing. I wish I could help him, but I can’t!”  
  
Harry patted her back awkwardly. Hermione realized there were tears in her eyes.  
  
“Don’t tell anyone, Harry. Not yet. Promise?”  
  
“Yeah, I promise, Hermione.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Hermione lay in her bed at two in the morning, staring at the ceiling. Harry had stayed until midnight playing wizard’s chess with her, and then she had spent an hour in the bath, thanks to a warming charm and everlasting bubbles. Tomorrow was Tuesday. She had two days until the ceremony, and then the whole world would know that Professor Snape had taken her place in the infirmary.  
  
While in the bath, she had decided that she was not going to tell anyone the bad news until after the ceremony. She would let McGonagall think she was still struggling to learn Legilimency. Hermione was not ready to admit that she might never talk to Professor Snape again.  
  
It must have been after three o'clock before she fell asleep, but Hermione woke at seven-thirty in the morning to the appearance of Truno in her room, accompanied as always by a loud crack.  
  
“Miss!” he croaked, waving his arms. “Professor McGonagall want Miss at breakfast, she say come as soon as Miss can!”  
  
He disappeared again with a crack. Hermione sat upright in her bed, rubbing her eyes. What had happened now? In seconds, she was dressed and flying down the corridor. The Great Hall was empty. Hermione all but ran to the table and sat down to wait. In seconds, McGonagall had materialized behind her.  
  
“Miss Granger!”  
  
“Professor McGonagall, what is it?”  
  
“The Healers will be here in an hour. They want to interview you again. It seems they do not think you have been as forthcoming as you ought to have been with them. There is talk of using Veritaserum.”  
  
“What? Can they do that? What do they think I’m hiding?”  
  
“They do not have permission to use Veritaserum yet, so you have nothing to worry about this morning. I do not know if they believe you are purposefully keeping information from them, though I suspect we will soon find out.”  
  
Hermione’s face must have shown her confusion. McGonagall held a hand up to stop her before the next question came out of her mouth.  
  
“Veritaserum is often used to help people remember things after a traumatic experience. Often the truth of the matter is still in a person's mind, even if they have blocked the memories out.”  
  
“So they don’t think I’m hiding anything?”  
  
McGonagall sat down beside her.  
  
“It doesn’t matter whether they do or they don’t. You are in danger, because you are, in fact, hiding something. If they give you Veritaserum they will find out that you are capable of Legilimency and that Severus taught you and used it to communicate with you. Did he ever tell you what the Ministry’s attitude is toward Legilimency? Have you not wondered why most of the Legilimency books still in existence reside in the Headmaster’s private library?”  
  
“He told me that people aren’t supposed to know that it’s real, but he didn’t say…” Hermione frowned at McGonagall. “What would happen if they found out?”  
  
“The Ministry would keep it quiet,” said McGonagall. “You would be closely monitored for the rest of your life. You would be treated as a criminal without actually committing a crime, since you can’t be guilty of being a Legilimens if they do not exist.”  
  
Hermione gaped at McGonagall.  
  
“So Dumbledore – ”  
  
“Dumbledore was a special case,” said McGonagall with a hint of a smile.  
  
“And Snape?”  
  
“Is an accomplished Occlumens, having been taught by Dumbledore so that he would be able to act as a spy in Voldemort’s service. Nobody has ever accused him of being a Legilimens.”  
  
Hermione frowned.  
  
“But surely they would suspect it?”  
  
“Oh, they do, Miss Granger, they do more than suspect – but I’m afraid I must cut this conversation short. It comes to this: the Healers cannot find out about the Legilimency. It would be a terrible mess for the Ministry to hush up, since it’s illegal to perform memory spells on Healers. They would lose their jobs. Healers must have un-tampered memories, and they have their memories tested every year. Once the Ministry knows about your abilities, you and Severus will be in rather unfortunate positions for the rest of your lives. However, if it comes down to it, we will have to tell the Ministry before the Healers can discover the whole truth and report it. If we have to, we will tell them that Severus is a Legilimens, and that you have some knowledge of the art but no experience, and we will hope for leniency.”  
  
“Leniency? But I thought they couldn’t really do anything since Legilimency doesn’t officially exist.”  
  
“They won’t officially do anything, Miss Granger, but they will watch you. You would have no secrets, no privacy. If you tried to disappear or they decided that you have become too much of a threat they would find a way to stop you, and you’d be lucky if all you got was a cell in Azkaban. There’s an entire department at the Ministry devoted to keeping Legilimency a myth.”  
  
It was hard to believe that anyone at the Ministry would be competent enough track Severus Snape if he did not want to be found. Hermione thought of all the Legilimency books she had lying around her room. She would have to return them to the Headmaster’s quarters immediately.  
  
“So, fifth year when Fudge tried arrest Dumbledore…”  
  
McGonagall nodded as she checked her watch and her eyes scanned the Great Hall. She smiled wryly.  
  
“Albus was never worried about the Ministry,” she said. “He was trusted by nearly everyone and the unwritten agreement was that since he had saved the world from Grindelwald, his ‘dabbling’ in Legilimency would be overlooked. The truth is, they didn’t scare Albus and they knew it. For many years, only the Minister and a few other high-ranking officials knew that he was a Legilimens, but then Fudge came. From the moment he found out about Albus, he was convinced that he was the wizarding world’s biggest threat – the only one Voldemort was afraid of, as so many people believed. He was afraid that Dumbledore was going to train Hogwarts students in Legilimency and build an unstoppable army, and he leaked the information that Albus was a Legilimens to some others, and succeeded in turning many at the Ministry against him out of fear.”  
  
“People like Umbridge,” Hermione said grimly. “Professor, how did they first learn that Dumbledore was a Legilimens?”  
  
“Not today, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall curtly. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. When the Healers come, I want you to tell them about the connection between you and Severus. Don’t tell them everything. Just say that every time Severus left the castle you felt worse and that you’re afraid to leave him now. Say that you didn’t tell them because you knew they’d make you leave him. Can you do that?”  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
“Yes, Professor.”  
  
McGonagall sighed.  
  
“If we are lucky, that should satisfy their suspicions and our worries will be over.”  
  
“What if they aren’t satisfied? Can they force me to take Veritaserum?”  
  
“Not without an order from the Ministry,” said McGonagall. “But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t easily get one. The problem is that you can’t refuse to take it without looking like you have something to hide.”  
  
Hermione met McGonagall’s eyes.  
  
“I’ll do my best to convince them otherwise today, Professor.”  
  
“You must do that, Granger,” McGonagall agreed. Her eyes flicked away toward the entrance to the hall, and Hermione heard someone whistling merrily. It was Hagrid, of course. Nobody else whistled that loudly.  
  
“I will see you in the infirmary in half an hour,” said McGonagall as she left, greeting Hagrid with a cheery, “Good morning!”  
  
Hermione sat staring at her empty plate wondering how she was going to persuade her stomach to accept any food. She sipped her juice while Hagrid and Flitwick chatted. Professor Sprout joined them and Hermione smiled and said good morning. She finished her juice and nibbled the corner of her toast before placing it back on her plate and excusing herself from the table. McGonagall was not in the infirmary, so Hermione sat in her chair by Snape’s bed and tried to clear her mind. She must be calm, she must be in control, and she must be convincing!  
  
“I believe Miss Granger is waiting in Professor Snape’s room,” came McGonagall’s voice from the hall. “She rarely leaves his side.”  
  
McGonagall and Minkas walked into the room. Healer Flores clicked in behind them in her heels.  
  
“Ah, Miss Granger, we meet again,” said Minkas. “How are you feeling this morning?”  
  
“Fine,” she answered.  
  
“Just fine?” he asked. “You’re up rather early for a student on summer vacation. Have you had trouble sleeping?”  
  
“No.”  
  
McGonagall cleared her throat.  
  
“Miss Granger, if you don’t mind, the Healers would like to ask you a few questions.”  
  
Hermione attempted to look confused. She frowned slightly and glanced at Minkas.  
  
“Oh… I suppose that would be fine…”  
  
“We just want to make sure we haven’t missed anything that will help us treat Professor Snape,” said Minkas. Flores gave Hermione a sympathetic look.  
  
“This should not take long, Miss Granger,” she said. “No examinations. We just want to talk to you.”  
  
Hermione nodded vaguely.  
  
“All right.”  
  
Minkas waited until McGonagall left before he sat down across from Hermione with his ever-present clipboard on his knee.  
  
“Miss Granger,” he paused, studying her. Hermione looked at the floor.  
  
“Is there anything you haven’t told us – even the smallest little thing – that you think could be important?”  
  
“Uh,” said Hermione, wondering if she should tell them right away. She glanced at Flores, who smiled encouragingly.  
  
“I don’t know…” Hermione was nervous. She was a terrible actor. They would know that she was hiding something. Flores crouched next to her chair so that she was eye-level with Hermione.  
  
“Can you tell us more about what it was like when you were under the curse?”  
  
Hermione pretended to think.  
  
“Well… it was really boring for the most part,” she said, figuring the more truth she put into her story the better. “Like I said before, I was never in pain. I never got hungry. I slept a lot.”  
  
Minkas began to look impatient. Hermione was not telling them anything they had not heard before.  
  
“I couldn’t control my body at all, only my mind. I couldn’t even stop my breathing…”  
  
Minkas scribbled this down, and Hermione realized she must have forgotten to mention it before. Flores looked worried.  
  
“Miss Granger, did you wish you could stop breathing? Did you want to – ”  
  
“No, I was never suicidal,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.  
  
Flores looked a little embarrassed, but nodded.  
  
“Miss Granger, is there anything else – anything you haven’t already told us that you can remember from the time you were under the curse?”  
  
Hermione hesitated. She looked at the floor again, and began wringing her hands a little, trying her best to do an impression of Dobby bursting to say something that he was not allowed to.  
  
“Miss Granger?”  
  
Hermione looked up at Flores.  
  
“Don’t make me leave him,” she whispered urgently. Flores’ eyebrows rose in surprise.  
  
“Miss Granger? Do I understand that you're afraid we will make you leave Professor Snape? What would make you think that?”  
  
After another Dobby-inspired struggle for words, Hermione glanced at Minkas, who was on the edge of his seat clutching his clipboard.  
  
“I know you’ll try to make me, after I tell you.”  
  
“Tell us what, Miss Granger?” Minkas’ knuckles were turning white. “If you want to help Professor Snape, you must tell us everything!”  
  
“I’m afraid that if I leave, he’ll get worse. It was like that every time he left me. I got cold. The day he went to the trial was the worst. If he left the castle I would feel like I was dying.”  
  
Hermione looked back and forth from Flores to Minkas, her eyes wide. She clutched her hands to her chest.  
  
“We connected! If I leave I might hurt him. I’m afraid he’ll die.”  
  
Flores tried to reassure her that they would not let Snape die. Minkas managed to be concerned for a minute or two, but quickly gave way to excitement as he scribbled notes and summoned McGonagall.  
  
Hermione thought she had acted her part well. She was able to hear them speaking in the hall.  
  
“It very well may be the case,” agreed Minkas. “I think – ”  
  
“She will have to leave sometime,” interrupted McGonagall thoughtfully. “I had hoped that she would attend the ceremony tomorrow. Perhaps this could be a way to test the connection?”  
  
“Would she agree to it?” asked Flores. “She is terrified of leaving him.”  
  
“Allow me to handle it. I believe I shall be able to convince her to go with me,” said McGonagall confidently. “Plan to send someone from your team here tomorrow to observe while we are gone.”  
  
“Professor, this is all very good and well, but – ” but Minkas seemed to have forgotten what his objection was. “I will send someone in the morning,” he finally said.  
  
“Thank you, Healer Minkas.”  
  
Minkas mumbled something and then Flores spoke.  
  
“Perhaps Miss Granger should speak with one of our counselors, Professor. The girl I see here does not resemble the one I have heard about, supposedly brilliantly intelligent, one of Hogwarts most promising students. It's apparent that she is mentally and emotionally unstable at the moment. Hers fears are irrational, she does not trust anyone, and she seems to have developed an unhealthy attachment to Professor Snape.”  
  
A moment later, McGonagall answered her.  
  
“Thank you, Healer Flores, a good suggestion. Hermione has suffered greatly. I believe it is perfectly natural that she would become attached to Severus. He was determined to find a way, even when others gave up on her.”  
  
There was a pause.  
  
“Well, if there’s nothing else we need to discuss today,” said McGonagall. “I will let you return to your other patients.”  
  
“Yes, yes,” said Minkas quickly. “No need to carry this any further today.”  
  
They were soon gone, Flores’ shoes tapping a fast beat as they left. McGonagall came back into the room.  
  
“Well done, Granger. At the very least, you’ve bought us some time.”  
  
Hermione did not think that more time would help. Something was terribly wrong with Professor Snape. It would not matter if the Ministry found out and made sure she never practiced Legilimency again. She had only needed it for Snape.  
  
Just before lunch, the Weasleys came to visit. Ginny poked her head in the door and said hello.  
  
“You’ve got some visitors, Hermione.”  
  
“Ron?” guessed Hermione, “Harry?”  
  
“Yep, they’re here too,” said Ginny, grinning, “along with the rest of the family.”  
  
“Your family is here?”  
  
“Sure, Hermione, they’ve been mad to see you. Since you can’t leave the castle we decided to bring everyone here.”  
  
“Hermione, dear?”  
  
Mrs. Weasley smiled nervously from the hall. Arthur was behind her with Ron, Harry, Percy, and George.  
  
“Hello, everyone,” Hermione said. Moments later she was caught in the middle of a group hug, clapped on the back a few times, and offered many apologies for not visiting more often.  
  
Before they left, Hermione warned them not to say a word about Snape or her mysterious cursed connection with him to anyone.  
  
“Not even Charlie or Bill,” she had said severely, glaring at Ron. “Or Padma.”


	25. The Phoenix Part Two

Hermione was eating lunch with Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and Hagrid when they were interrupted by the Apparition of a house-elf, followed by a tiny squeak as it bobbed over to McGonagall's side.  
  
“Headmistress, there be another red freckled Weasel-bee wanting to be let in at the gate. He say his name is 'Bill' and he be here to help Professor Snape!”  
  
Hermione's eyes widened. She had _just_ warned her friends not to tell anyone, even the rest of the family!  
  
“Indeed?” asked McGonagall in surprise, turning to Hermione.  
  
“I have no idea how he found out!” Hermione exclaimed, then reflected, “Well, I suppose I have an idea, but _I_ didn't ask him to come here! He's supposed to be on a job in a remote desert site until next week, anyway.”  
  
“Well, let's go down and see what he wants, if indeed it is Bill Weasley. Follow me, Miss Granger, and do stay behind me.”  
  
They hurried out of the castle and down to the gate. As they approached, Hermione could see a wizard that looked like Bill Weasley waiting for them. McGonagall motioned for Hermione to stop and went over to question Bill herself. After a moment, she opened the gate and let him in, gesturing to where Hermione stood.  
  
“Hermione? You're okay!”  
  
Bill hugged her warmly.  
  
“Yes,” Hermione acknowledged. “I've recovered... I assumed you knew.”  
  
She peered at him in confusion.  
  
“How did you find out about Professor Snape, if you didn't know about my recovery?”  
  
Bill frowned.  
  
“What about Professor Snape, Hermione?”  
  
She frowned back.  
  
“He's... we've switched places, it seems. He's lying in the infirmary right now, looking just like I did before. You didn't know?”  
  
“No,” said Bill. “I came here as soon as I got Professor Snape's owl. He said that he knew it was a long-shot, but hoped that my Curse-Breaking knowledge might be of use in figuring out how to help you and asked that I come to Hogwarts as soon as I was able. The owl must have gotten caught in a sandstorm, poor thing, because I only got the message yesterday but it was dated over a week ago.”  
  
Hermione was stunned into silence for a moment.  
  
“He must have figured something out on his own,” she said. “Whatever it was, he must have done it just after he sent you the message, because we've been switched for a few days now. I had no idea he had asked you to come.”  
  
Bill wrapped an arm around her in a comforting, brotherly manner.  
  
“I don't know what Professor Snape thought I would be able to find, but if you take me to him I will do my best to figure it out.”  
  
They arrived in the infirmary warm from the exertion of walking the grounds in the summer weather. Hermione collapsed into the chair by the bed as Bill stared at Professor Snape.  
  
“Tell me everything you know, Hermione,” he said softly.  
  
She gave him a detailed account of everything that she remembered since waking up after the battle. Then she took out Severus' journal and fixed Bill with sharp look.  
  
“What has your family has told you about how Professor Snape communicated with me?”  
  
“Just that he was able to use Legilimency on you to know that you were conscious. Turns out we were right about him as students, then. I suppose he was able to know how you were feeling and perhaps used some of your memories to study the curse?”  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
“Yes, he did that... and so much more. Nobody but Professor McGonagall knows the extent of our communication. It was very clear, like having real conversations. Here!”  
  
She held the journal out to him.  
  
“Read this and you'll understand. Just promise me...” she said, pulling it back slightly as he reached out to take it, “that you will never tell a soul about it. Not even Fleur. McGonagall has warned me that if the Ministry finds out about it there will be... unpleasant repercussions.”  
  
Bill's eyebrows shot up.  
  
“Do you want me to take an oath of secrecy before I read it?”  
  
Hermione shook her head and smiled faintly.  
  
“No. I trust your word.”  
  
She sat quietly as Bill skimmed the entries in the journal, eyebrows occasionally knitting together as he deciphered the small, cramped script. Presently, Dumbledore's portrait made an appearance.  
  
“Ah! Bill Weasley has come to visit!”  
  
Hermione glared at him, his jovial words startling Bill from his task.  
  
“Uh, hello... Professor Dumbledore,” he remarked, quickly returning to the journal, engrossed in one of the last entries.  
  
“Miss Granger, am I right in assuming that you hope Mr. Weasley will be able assist you in breaking the curse?”  
  
Hermione did not answer the portrait.  
  
“For if that is why you've brought him here, I'm afraid you will be disappointed. Curses on places and objects are quite different from curses on mythical beasts, non-magical beings, and magical folk. Designing curses to be used on witches and wizards is its own, completely separate branch of magic with its own laws and theories – all of which are vastly more complicated than any other type of curse.”  
  
Hermione smiled slightly at the portrait.  
  
“Yes, I know. I have not asked Bill to come. It was Professor Snape who sent for him before he was... incapacitated. He must have thought it worthwhile.”  
  
Bill finished the entry he had been reading and looked at Hermione.  
  
“The portrait is right, Hermione. I don't know if I will be any help at all. There are not really any curse breakers left who specialize in curses on magical folk – at least nobody who could tackle something this dark. The Ministry has been discouraging study in that field since the first war, since most of those interested in the subject were actually more interested in being able to legally experiment on people with Dark Magic and get paid for it to boot. Not to mention, most of those qualified were convicted or suspected Death Eaters and could not be trusted in a Ministry position – if they weren't already in Azkaban.”  
  
Hermione sighed.  
  
“And as we found out with Fudge and Umbridge, the Ministry's answer to fighting the Dark Arts is _not_ to understand and defeat them, but to declare them illegal and simply hope they will go away.”  
  
Bill nodded.  
  
“True. But honestly... it is incredibly risky for someone to study such dark curses. Even the most ethical, conscientious wizard could be seduced by the Dark Magic if they aren't strong enough to resist its power. The nature of studying and experimenting with curses that affect magical folk means that the person doing the research is always a potential vessel for Dark Magic. Even taking every precautions to avoid the effects of the residual Dark Magic involved in breaking down a curse to find a cure, the magic is by nature strongly drawn to the witch or wizard studying it.”  
  
Hermione nodded, frowning as she took in the information.  
  
“So... when you're out on a job breaking curses on buildings or objects... how do you avoid being cursed before you analyze and remove the spells?”  
  
“The curses might be designed to attack or affect a wizard, or anything else that gets too close, but we have ways of convincing the Dark Magic that we are not a target. We use a modified Shield Charm that actually attracts the curse's magic continuously while we analyze the nature of the spell. When we're done, the charm splits the shield and wraps the Dark Magic from the curse in a protective bubble, leaving a shield around the Curse-Breakers as well. It takes at least two people, sometimes three, to pull off.”  
  
“But that wouldn't work for a cursed wizard,” Hermione stated, knowing the answer.  
  
“No, it wouldn't,” said Bill, shaking his head. “It is nearly impossible to convince Dark Magic designed to seek out magical folk specifically, that a charm is a person. So, you often need a live decoy who is capable of holding the magic at bay until their partner can analyze the spell... and who in their right mind would volunteer for that job?”  
  
Hermione was quiet for a minute.  
  
“So, in our situation... where the curse is already activated in myself and Professor Snape... would a Curse-Breaker be in danger of becoming a target as well?”  
  
Bill shrugged.  
  
“That's the thing, Hermione. I don't know. It's definitely possible. The real problem is that _I_ don't know the first thing about analyzing this kind of curse, and I don't know anyone who does. As the portrait said, it's completely different than the sort of curses I work with. All I can do is try a few non-invasive spells to see if they might reveal how the magic is tied to you and Professor Snape. I won't be able to do much with the spell itself.”  
  
Hermione shook her head.  
  
“And I wouldn't ask you to! Not after you've just told me how dangerous it might be for you.”  
  
Bill was determined to do what he could, and he immediately went to find Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey to assist him.  
  
With Madam Pomfrey shielding Bill, and McGonagall shielding herself and Pomfrey separately in a brightly lit, bluish-white cage, Bill sent some diagnostic spells toward Snape. Hermione sat in the chair beside the bed, nervously awaiting her turn under Bill's gracefully sweeping, yet carefully controlled wand movements.  
  
When Bill finally turned to Hermione, she closed her eyes. A feeling of static electricity washed over her, and it seemed that every hair on her body stood on end. She could feel her mass of curls strain against the confines of the braid she had tied earlier. Bill used a second spell and Hermione shivered as the feeling a thousand grains of sand brushing over her skin on a strong wind piqued and faded. A third spell prompted her to open her eyes, as her body warmed. She glanced down at her arms and thought that they might have been glowing a sickly yellowish-green for a brief moment.  
  
“Okay, Hermione, sit tight,” said Bill, his voice muffled by the shield. “I'm going to try something else.”  
  
Moments passed during which Bill tried a few spells to no effect. Looking determined he took a breath, closed his eyes in concentration, and then opened them slowly. He pointed his wand at Snape, circled the tip twice while murmuring the spell, then slowly drew his aim across the small space between the bed and Hermione's chair. When his wand was pointed at Hermione, he made another small circle, murmuring again. Slowly dropping his wand, he took a breath. Then, with a sudden swift upward stroke, he loudly said another spell, a fierce look on his face. Sweat had matted a few strands of hair to his cheek. He held his wand steady, struggling as if with a great weight, and with one more string of muffled syllables, jabbed his wand toward the air above Hermione's head.  
  
Bill looked triumphant, causing Hermione to tilt her head back and gasp. There was a faintly glowing web of magic above her, attached to her head and torso it would seem. She looked over at Snape, and sure enough it touched him as well. Some of the pathways were thicker than others, and the one in the middle of the mess – the largest – was pulsing slightly.  
  
Without a thought, Hermione reached over and put a hand on Snape's chest, to the immediate protests of Pomfrey and McGonagall. The pulse of Snape's heartbeat matched the pulse of the magical web, which was still visible but fading slowly.  
  
Hermione stared at it, willing her mind to remember every detail. The web was multi-colored. Much of it was a soft purplish-pink, but interwoven were quite a few strands that were the same sickly green she had glowed earlier, strands of deep violet, and what seemed like hundreds of tiny, shocking yellow ones. There was a large patch near the middle that was a dull myriad of grays, blues, and greens.  
  
The image faded away with all occupants of the room still gazing silently at the apparition. Hermione finally looked over at Bill, now unshielded. He wore a contemplative expression as he stared at Snape. Pomfrey and McGonagall wore matching expressions of shock and awe.  
  
“Most intriguing!” exclaimed the portrait.  
  
“What did that mean?” asked Hermione.  
  
“Well...” said Bill. “I'm not entirely sure, but it seems that your hypothesis was correct. You are connected by the curse and are currently sustaining one another with your combined strength. The curse is incredibly strong... the pattern suggested that the main pathway connecting you was originally cursed, but as you saw it is now the very thing keeping you... well, I suppose Professor Snape at the moment... from succumbing completely.”  
  
“How do you know all that?” asked Hermione curiously.  
  
“Oh, I suppose I should have explained it better,” said Bill. “Okay, so the parts of that web that were pinkish colored... those were the 'good' connections between you two. Pink stands are either Healing Magic or benign magic of some other variety. You seem to have both Healing Magic _and_ Dark Magic running in the pathways we saw. The large one was colored as 'good magic', but... it was sort of, uh, bumpy and twisted, almost knotted in places, right?”  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
“Well, that's how Dark Magic normally manifests... only if it was truly Dark it would have glowed green, blue, or dark violet. Did you see how it had faint violet edges?”  
  
Hermione nodded again.  
  
“That makes me think it was violet originally, but was healed... probably the first thing to be healed. Every other healing strand originated from that line, as well as every other dark strand.”  
  
“What about the red and yellow ones?”  
  
“The red shows a strong magical bond between two objects, or in this case, two people. The yellow is sort of like scaffolding – it just shows the structure of the spell. Your was the most intricate I've ever seen.”  
  
“What about that dull spot that was near the middle?”  
  
Bill nodded.  
  
“I noticed that too,” he paused. “I don't think it's a good thing, though I haven't seen it before. If I had to make a guess, I'd say that it might represent some damage to either the curse or the connection. It _could_ mark a site of magical transition. That section could be healing, or – ”  
  
“Succumbing to the curse,” Hermione finished for him when he paused again.  
  
“So... so do you think we will eventually overcome the curse... on our own somehow?” Hermione's voice nearly refused to form the question, terrified of the answer.  
  
Bill did not look optimistic.  
  
“I couldn't say, Hermione. We can certainly keep performing the spell to check your progress. From what I can tell, we did not even need the shields today. Whatever this curse is, it seems to be contained between you by the Healing Magic. Normally, when we map a curse like that, you can see the strands shooting out like tendrils looking for something to grab onto. Sometimes they are quite active, depending on the type of curse. Do you know what counter-curses Professor Snape performed to contain it?”  
  
A heavy silence followed, after which Hermione slowly shook her head.  
  
“He didn't use any, as far as I know.”  
  
The occupants of the room contemplated what they have just learned.  
  
“You really must show me how to perform that spell, Mr. Weasley,” said Pomfrey. “I've never seen anything like it!”  
  
Bill smiled.  
  
“You wouldn't have, as it's just been developed – it's still being developed, actually, by a member of my team. It holds much promise for the future of Curse-Breaking.”  
  
“To be sure,” said Pomfrey.  
  
“Yes, you have been quite helpful,” said McGonagall. “Did Professor Snape know of your expertise with this new spell? Is that why he asked you to come?”  
  
“No,” said Bill. “He couldn't have known about it, but it seemed like he was desperate to learn more about the curse. He must have been if he thought _I_ could help _him_ understand a curse such as this. If my first diagnostic spells had not come back negative for actively moving Dark Magic, I would not have dared try the spell map. It would have been far too risky to draw out such a strong curse in a room full of potential vessels – er, victims.”  
  
“I see,” was all McGonagall said in reply.  
  
“This is the strangest curse I've ever seen,” said Bill. “It looks like it's been somehow contained... and there seems to be active healing involved... but you say he hadn't yet tried any counter-curses. It would seem that the curse was not cast successfully – why or how I could not say – and as a result you two are not only connected but able to mitigate the effects by drawing on your joint magical strength.”  
  
Hermione walked Bill back down to the castle gate. He had not even been home to see Fleur before coming to Hogwarts.  
  
“Bill, do you think that if Professor Snape had been the one awake when you got here...”  
  
“That he would have been able to make more of the spell map than I could?” asked Bill.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Bill let out a speculative breath.  
  
“Ah... possibly. He is well-versed in the Dark Arts and has first-hand knowledge of how Voldemort might have gone about creating his curses. He might have been able to get something more out of the map, given enough time to study it. That's the problem with the development of the spell at this point – it takes tremendous effort to work the spell in the first place, let alone to keep it visible long enough to analyze anything specific. Farnsworth is working on a second spell to capture an imprint of the map for later study, which will make the whole thing much safer in the field.”  
  
Bill's eyes got a faraway look as he continued.  
  
“It will be fascinating to see how your curse and connection changes, as I'm sure it will with the various magical forces caught up in the spell.”  
  
He looked down at Hermione.  
  
“I had never seen all of the colors present in one map before. Merlin, I had never seen the mark of Healing Magic outside of the testing phase. For obvious reasons, we don't encounter much benign or pure magic in our line of work, at least not when we have occasion to use the map.”  
  
They finished their trek in silence. When they reached the gate, Bill hugged her goodbye.  
  
“Hermione, it's my turn to ask you not to share what you've seen today with anyone else. The Spell Mapping Charm, if that is what it ends up being called, is not approved for use outside of my team. If anyone found out that I had used it on a person...”  
  
“Oh!” exclaimed Hermione.  
  
“It's perfectly safe,” Bill assured her. “Well, for you and Professor Snape, anyway.”  
  
“Bill... you really shouldn't have taken the chance,” Hermione admonished. “If anything had happened to you – if the curse had somehow affected you, too – ”  
  
“It was a risk I was willing to take,” he interrupted firmly. “But like I said before, I wouldn't have done it if the curse had not already been contained.”  
  
He smiled at her then.  
  
“Now, don't go telling my family about the spell, either. With all the friends we have in the Ministry... it's just better to keep it quiet. I could probably get away with a slap on the wrist from the Ministry, but Gringotts would have my head if they knew I've been experimenting with their newest spell without authorization.”  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
“I won't tell a soul.”  
  
“I'll be back next week to map the curse for you again. I've told McGonagall to owl me immediately if there are any new developments. Keep trying to reach him, and take care of yourself.”  
  
They parted ways, and Hermione was sad to see him go. She had always liked Bill, being in awe of both his academic accomplishments and his choice of career. Curse-Breaking was not an easy field, though it was lucrative. Most magical folk who attempted the apprenticeship either quit or were rejected after a few months.  
  
Dinner was quiet that evening. McGonagall was not there, and Hermione found her in the infirmary later.  
  
“I wish I didn’t have to do this, Severus. You should be giving the speech tomorrow, not me.”  
  
Hermione stepped inside the room.  
  
“How is the Legilimency coming, Granger?”  
  
Hermione sat down, heart pounding.  
  
“I don’t know, Professor. I've succeeded with Harry, but with Professor Snape… nothing.”  
  
“He must be very weak,” concluded McGonagall.  
  
“Harry was already angry when I tried to get into his mind,” said Hermione. “Which makes it a lot easier.”  
  
“Indeed.” A pause. “Who was Potter angry with? Not with you, I trust?”  
  
“No,” said Hermione. “Er – Ginny. And Ron. They had a fight. I think they’ve worked it out though.”  
  
McGonagall moved to leave.  
  
“We leave Hogwarts at 9:30 tomorrow, Miss Granger. I do wish we had more time.”  
  
Hermione stayed with Snape until her eyes grew heavy and she could not read her book anymore. She had been reading to him with her mind like he had done so many times for her. She hoped he could hear it, and that the sound of her thoughts would draw him out of the dark haze that filled his mind.  
  
Despite everything, she slept soundly. The morning was clear and bright. Hermione would have preferred clouds and rain. She was not in the mood for good weather. She woke early and decided to spend the extra time on her appearance. If she was going to be on the front page of the paper she should at least make an effort with her hair. She used Lavender’s favorite curling charm and painstakingly coaxed her frizzy bed-head into thick, sleek masses of curls. Her hair was so thick that it took nearly an hour. She thought she had missed a few sections in the back, but her arms were tired so she gave up and went to breakfast.  
  
“Ah, yeh look especially nice t’day, Hermione,” said Hagrid. “I don’t suppose you're nervous abou' the ceremony, are yeh?”  
  
“Uh, thanks, and no, I’m not really nervous about the ceremony,” she said. It would not last long, and she would be back in the infirmary as soon as it was over.  
  
“Right. Well, tha’s good then,” he said, piling half a plate of food onto his enormous serving spoon, which the house-elves always gave him instead of a regular one.  
  
Hermione ate little and spoke even less. Hagrid did not seem to mind. He talked about dragons while Hermione poked at her food. It was only nine o’clock when she left the Great Hall, so she went to the infirmary to wait. Healer Jenkins and Leatherby, the Dark spells specialist, were already there with Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall.  
  
“Good morning, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall, and they all turned to look at Hermione.  
  
“Good morning,” Hermione said as pleasantly as she could while staring daggers at the Healers.  
  
“I was just telling Healers Jenkins and Leatherby that you will accompany me to the ceremony this morning. They have assured me that we leave Professor Snape in good hands.”  
  
Hermione nodded and went to Snape’s bedside.  
  
 _I’m sorry I have to leave again,_ she thought. _I’ll be back as soon as it’s over._  
  
“Is Madam Pomfrey coming to the ceremony?” asked Hermione, forgetting that Madam Pomfrey was standing behind her.  
  
“I am, Miss Granger,” said Pomfrey. “Healer Minkas and I have been asked to give a statement on Severus’ condition.”  
  
“Oh,” said Hermione, wishing that somebody besides the Healers would be staying with Snape.  
  
“Professor McGonagall, I, uh, forgot my purse. It's in my room,” Hermione said suddenly, whirling away from the bed. “Should I meet you back here before we leave?”  
  
“That would be fine, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall with a questioning look.  
  
Hermione hurried to her rooms. She grabbed her beaded bag, which was now organized and nearly empty. Then, she called for Truno. He appeared seconds later, looking as grumpy as ever.  
  
“Miss called?”  
  
“Truno, can I ask you to do something for me?”  
  
Truno folded his thick, stumpy arms and said, “Truno is at Miss's service.”  
  
Hermione smiled and crouched down next to him.  
  
“Truno, I need you to stay in the infirmary with Professor Snape today. I have to go away, and so does Madam Pomfrey. I want you to watch the Healers – Jenkins and Leatherby, and listen to what they say about him. Watch everything they do while I’m gone, and give me a report when I get back. Can you do that?”  
  
Truno blinked once, very slowly.  
  
“Truno will do what Miss asks.”  
  
“Thank you, Truno,” said Hermione. “Would you like to come to the infirmary with me?”  
  
Without a word, Truno grabbed her arm. Hermione’s gasp of surprise was sucked out of her lungs as they Apparated. In the future, Truno was going to have to ask permission before Apparating her anywhere. They popped into the infirmary, almost knocking Jenkins over. Hermione coughed and glanced sheepishly at the shocked faces around her.  
  
“All set now,” she said. McGonagall was frowning at her.  
  
“I’ve told Truno to stay here until I get back. I thought Professor Snape would like some familiar company.”  
  
“A house-elf?” scoffed Jenkins. Truno was glaring at him.  
  
“Truno is a special house-elf,” said Hermione, patting his shoulder. “He’s very devoted to Professor Snape.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall both gamely affirmed that he was, and it was decided that Truno would stay.  
  
“It can’t hurt to have him here,” said Pomfrey. “He gets on quite well with the portrait.”  
  
“Ah, yes! Truno and I are great friends!” exclaimed Dumbledore’s portrait. “He likes my stories.”  
  
Truno just grunted and jumped up into Hermione’s usual chair.  
  
“Well, Miss Granger, we should be going, I think,” said McGonagall presently. “Hagrid is escorting us to the ceremony and he’ll be waiting.”  
  
The next moment there was a great screech and a red and gold blur swept into the room. Fawkes landed on the back of the chair where Truno sat and shook out his feathers. He seemed to be staring at Hermione.  
  
 _Take care of him, Fawkes,_ thought Hermione. Fawkes bobbed his head once.  
  
“So you’ve returned again, old bird,” said Dumbledore’s portrait affectionately. “It’s about time you paid me a visit. Still haven’t found her, then?”  
  
The Healers gaped at the phoenix. Hermione was curious to know who Fawkes was looking for. McGonagall put a hand on Hermione’s arm and cautioned her with a look.  
  
“Come, Miss Granger,” she said. “Ready, Poppy?”  
  
McGonagall led Hermione away with a firm hand on her arm. Madam Pomfrey walked with them to the headmaster’s office, where Hagrid was waiting by the gargoyle. They Flooed directly to the Ministry and were greeted by the Minister of Magic, Marlin Klimpett. Hermione shook his pudgy hand when it was her turn and smiled politely when he told her how marvelous it was that she had recovered. He left them in a little room with some uncomfortable couches and a table with a tray of fruit.  
  
Hagrid plopped down on one of the sofas and began tossing grapes into his mouth anxiously. Hermione sat on the other end and stared at the flowered wall paper. It was hideous, and it reminded her vaguely of the sort of garish, frilly patterns Umbridge preferred.  
  
McGonagall was called out of the room by a witch in bright pink robes and thick-rimmed glasses, who turned out to be the event coordinator. A few minutes later, the witch was back for Hermione. She took her down the hall to another room, where McGonagall sat with Klimpett and a wizard with a quill sticking out of one of his robe pockets.  
  
“Do sit down, Miss Granger,” said Klimpett. “Allow me to introduce you to Willie Beck, with _The Daily Prophet._ ”  
  
Willie Beck flashed a white smile at Hermione and stood to extend his hand.  
  
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger,” he said. Hermione shook his hand, eyeing him suspiciously. He was very tan, as if he had just spent a week at the beach. He had a closely trimmed goatee and wore an earring. His hair was a shaggy mop of curls. He looked like he should be wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt, instead of sitting beside the Minister of Magic in tailored black robes that looked like they were a size too small. It was a bit like seeing Bill Weasley in proper wizard’s attire.  
  
“You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Granger, for what I’m about to ask you,” he said, holding his hands up helplessly. “I’m just the messenger.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t help smiling a little. He grinned back with his too-white smile.  
  
“What Mr. Beck means to say is that _The Prophet_ wants him to conduct an exclusive interview with you before the ceremony today,” said McGonagall impatiently. “Which was _not_ part of our deal.”  
  
Beck looked briefly annoyed, but then shrugged.  
  
“She’s right, that’s why I’m here,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes until the ceremony, Miss Granger. If you feel you’re up to an interview, I can make it as painless as possible.”  
  
“And if I’m not up to it?” asked Hermione. Beck grinned again.  
  
“Then I’ll say…” He paused.  
  
“Well, you tell me,” he said, pulling out his quick-quill and letting it hover in the air above his notepad. “Are your eyes puffy and bloodshot from crying all morning? Did your gargantuan body guard threaten to break me in half if I so much as spoke to you? Or did Miss Hermione Granger throw me out on my ar – er –”  
  
Willie glanced at Klimpett. “Or, did you tell me that you could not interview on such short notice because you don’t want to compromise the details of your personal account?”  
  
Hermione smiled despite herself. Willie Beck must be trying to lose his job.  
  
“I think it should probably be something like the last one.”  
  
“Perfect,” said Beck, putting his quill back in his pocket and jumping up to shake her hand again. “Thank you for your time, Miss Granger. I look forward to our next interview.”  
  
He winked at her and was gone. Klimpett shifted on the couch and coughed.  
  
“Bloody waste of time,” he muttered, and then looked at Hermione.  
  
“Miss Granger, there is one more thing before you go.”  
  
McGonagall was staring significantly at Hermione, but Hermione had no idea what she was trying to communicate.  
  
“Er – yes, Minister Klimpett?”  
  
Klimpett leaned toward her conspiratorially.  
  
“We’d like you to say a few words.”  
  
Hermione stared at his bushy eyebrows. One was longer than the other.  
  
“A few words, sir?”  
  
“At the ceremony, Miss Granger! The Ministry would like you to say a few words about Professor Snape, your experience, anything you like. He was a good man, so they tell me, didn’t know him myself… there aren’t many who did. People want to know what he was like – you understand, Miss Granger – and who better to tell them than you?”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw McGonagall nod slightly. Klimpett leaned back again.  
  
“Nobody will force you to speak, Miss Granger. I realize you’re completely unprepared. If we had known that you were well enough to attend we would have sent you a formal request. Whatever you decide, we will respect your decision… though it would be a great honor to speak today, Miss Granger,” Klimpett chuckled. “A great honor for you and for the Ministry, to have one of Harry Potter’s companions speak on Professor Snape’s behalf…”  
  
“I’ll do it,” Hermione said, calmly interrupting him. He sat up and clapped his hands together.  
  
“Ah, wonderful, Miss Granger! I knew you wouldn’t let us down. I told Minerva that you would help us out today… wonderful…”  
  
Hermione was shown out by the witch in the pink robes, back to the room with the awful wallpaper. Hagrid had eaten all the fruit and was leaning back against the couch, whistling something off-key.  
  
Just before the ceremony, McGonagall came back to sit with them.  
  
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” she said. “I’m afraid that once they found out you were coming, they were determined to have you speak. You needn’t say much.”  
  
“It’s okay, Professor,” Hermione said. “I want to do it.”  
  
She was not nervous. Snape occupied her thoughts entirely, and she did not have any room left in her head to worry about what she would say. She would just tell them the truth – she would say that she did not regret jumping in front of the curse, that Severus Snape was a good man, and that her dearest wish was for him to recover. Or else, she would just say ‘Thank you for your support in this difficult time,’ and be done with it.  
  
They sat in the room until the pink-robed witch came and ushered them out again. There was a podium set up in the Ministry’s main hall. The whole place was full of witches and wizards. Flashes blinded Hermione as they walked out in front of the crowd behind Hagrid. There were chairs set up for them behind the podium, where Klimpett stood smiling and holding up his hand for silence. Hermione realized that the crowd had been cheering wildly. She heard her name shouted a few times, and someone cried out, “Where’s Snape?”  
  
Urgent whispers rippled through the crowd.  
  
She looked out at the unfamiliar faces, trying to find the Weasleys. They had said they would come. Every face was a round pink blob and all the colors of their robes ran together. She had to look away, stare at the ground, the ceiling, the back of Klimpett’s head, anything.  
  
Klimpett finished speaking and there was applause. McGonagall got up to speak. Hermione did hear a word of it, but the Professor’s voice was low and serious. Madam Pomfrey and Minkas spoke next – Hermione wondered vaguely when Minkas had gotten there – and then McGonagall took the podium again.  
  
“And so, it is with great sadness that I accept the position of Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in place of Severus Snape. I name as my Deputy Head, Filius Flitwick, with full approval from the Board.”  
  
She paused, and gave the podium back to Klimpett.  
  
“Before the Oath of Office is performed...” he said, “Miss Hermione Granger would like to say a few words.”  
  
He clapped with the crowd as Hermione stood up and wobbled to the podium on shaky legs.  
  
“Good morning,” she said. It was a start. Hermione focused her eyes and was able to make out a few of the individual faces in the crowd. The Weasleys and Harry were to her left.  
  
“I didn’t think I would be here today,” she said. “I didn’t expect to live long enough to see this ceremony.”  
  
Mrs. Weasley looked like she was going to cry. Hermione swallowed and thought of Snape lying in the infirmary, cold as stone. She must be brief.  
  
“But, like Professor McGonagall, I knew that Severus Snape would be a great Headmaster,” she continued. What came next? Hermione opened her mouth, not knowing what she would say next as word formed on her tongue.  
  
Hermione would never know what she had tried to say that day. Her voice was drowned out by screams and shouts from the crowd. Hermione heard a familiar screech.  
  
Fawkes had appeared above her head in a burst of flame. He flew back and forth, looking at her, his golden tail feathers sweeping the podium in front of her like a pendulum. He screeched again, and this time his tail hit her in the face. Hermione stared at it, realizing what she must do. She reached out and grabbed Fawkes’ tail, expecting him to lift her up over the crowd. Instead, Hermione felt as if she were being squeezed like a tube of toothpaste. She arrived back at Hogwarts, sticky, clammy, and breathless.  
  
Her feet hit solid ground. She had squeezed her eyes were shut for the journey, and now she opened them. She was back in the infirmary, of course, staring at the rose window. Hermione spun around. Snape was in his bed, looking like he had been dead for a week. Not that Hermione knew what a week-old corpse looked like, but she imagined it would look grey and angular, like Snape did at that moment.  
  
She ran to the bed, hot tears streaming down her face. The Healers and Truno were nowhere to be seen. Hermione pointed her wand at the door and locked it with a spell Harry had learned from the Half-Blood Prince – one of Snape’s own spells. The Healers would not be able to break in for a while.  
  
Hermione climbed onto the bed, and reached out her trembling hands, afraid to touch him. She gently searched his blank, dead eyes with her mind.  
  
There was a pinhole of light, a tiny spot of warmth somewhere in their depths! It disappeared and reappeared, flickering before her eyes like a single flame on a nearly-spent wick.  
  
 _Professor Snape… I’m here! I’m back._  
  
The light dipped and bobbed away from her, tossed by black waves. She pushed toward it urgently. It felt like trying to run through water.  
  
 _Professor! Severus Snape! You have to come to me. Come back to me!_  
  
She was getting closer. The light was no longer moving, and the murky waves no longer pushed against her. It grew lighter, warmer. The spot was gone. Hermione stopped.  
  
 _Professor Snape?_  
  
A shadow passed through her senses, a delicate shiver, like the brush of a veil being lifted from her eyes. There was no suitable way to describe it. Then, he was there.  
  
 _Go._  
  
Hermione had to remind herself to breath again.  
  
 _Professor! I can hear you!_  
  
Another strange shudder wracked his mind.  
  
 _Go – away.  
  
Professor you don’t understand, you’ve been –  
  
LEAVE ME!_  
  
He turned away from her. The light dimmed.


	26. The Witness

She was always there. Hermione sat in the infirmary for hours at a time, sometimes reading, sometimes just sitting and staring, watching him. He wished she would leave. Eventually she would give up. Until then he struggled to keep himself distant.  
  
The Healers had come back, poking and prodding him with their wands and casting the same diagnostic spells that they had used on Hermione countless times before.  
  
Severus had suppressed his thoughts and emotions ruthlessly. Hermione could not find them if they did not exist. His mind had become a dead, empty thing, and it was a blessed relief. He had learned to ignore her presence, and soon he did not know when she came or when she left.  
  
Time had stopped existing for Severus. He was rarely aware of his surroundings, including the time of day and the people that came in and out of his room.  
  
Then, Hermione started reading to him through her mind, and Severus nearly lost control. He struggled to ignore the words, phrases, and sentences that threatened to wake him from his stupor and drag him back to sanity.  
  
Another long night had come. Severus knew she was gone. Without Hermione there, he relaxed and allowed himself some space to think. There would come a time when he was not capable of sane thought. It may be months, or even years of solitude before it happened, but it would come. His mind would eventually fail him. Once she was gone he would long for the day when rational thought died and consciousness faded away.  
  
In the morning Severus had waited for Hermione to come, telling himself that he would collect another precious memory of her before he shut his mind down for the day.  
  
Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall had brought two Healers with them that morning, one of them was the ‘Dark Spells Specialist’, Leatherby. Severus could not remember the other Healer’s name – Jennings, or Jenkins – but he was young and an idiot. He agreed enthusiastically with anything Leatherby said.  
  
“Good morning, Miss Granger.”  
  
“Good morning.”  
  
Severus had retreated, but not fast enough to feel safe. She was soon by his bed.  
  
 _I’m sorry I have to leave again,_ she thought. _I’ll be back as soon as it’s over._  
  
She was leaving again. He had not known why at first, so little had he allowed his mind to take in his surroundings. It had not taken him long to realize that it was the day McGonagall would officially take his place and make the announcement that Severus Snape was dead to the world. She would put it more politely, of course.  
  
The voices of the Healers began to fade as Severus closed his mind off again, though he could not help noticing when Hermione reappeared in the infirmary with a loud crack, and Truno on her arm. She was leaving the recalcitrant house-elf with him again. Fawkes made a theatrical entrance before McGonagall and Hermione left. The bird had a flair for the dramatic, much like its former master.  
  
 _About time, bird,_ he had thought. _I was beginning to think you would give up before Granger._  
  
They left. The Healers moped around the room for a while, hardly speaking to one another. It seemed that Leatherby did not care much for the company of his eager colleague. Jenkins talked incessantly at him for thirty minutes before Leatherby said that he needed a walk to clear his head.  
  
“Read over the notes again, Jenkins,” he said, shoving some papers at him. “We’ll discuss this further when I get back.”  
  
Jenkins stood by the window and flipped through the pages. He seemed reluctant to go near Truno, who sat silently in Hermione’s chair with his arms crossed. Dumbledore’s portrait began to hum.  
  
Minutes had passed, perhaps hours – Severus paid no attention to time. Jenkins stirred and moved from the window, muttering under his breath what sounded like, “Now where has he got to?”  
  
He had walked over to the bed and stared at Severus for a few seconds. Then, he reached out and magicked Severus’ eyelids closed.  
  
“It’s not polite to stare, Professor Snape,” he had said under his breath.  
  
Jenkins began to pace the floor slowly. His pace had increased and increased until he might well have started running in circles. Suddenly he had stopped and sighed with obvious exasperation. He stomped out of the room. Truno had been pretending to sleep in the chair, but once Jenkins was out of the room, Severus heard him quietly stir and slip out to follow the Healer.  
  
Nobody returned, and Severus drifted in and out of consciousness. He was dimly aware that his body had become cold again. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins, his heart grew fainter and fainter with each beat. It became a flutter, then a slight quiver, and then it seemed to have stopped. Everything was silent, both inside the infirmary as well as inside his mind.  
  
Surely Hermione would come soon. The thought sat in his mind like a thick, disorienting fog. He did not want it there, but could not get away from it. Soon, all he could see was her face shining before him like it did in his dream. He should bury the vision, drown it in darkness, but he did not.  
  
The distant vision of her face had seemed to warm him slightly.  
  
Then she was really there.  
  
Hermione was there, crouched on the bed next to his stone cold body, staring into his eyes, her hands brushing lightly over his face.  
  
Severus retreated, throwing up what defenses he could. He was weak and was not prepared for her return.  
  
 _Professor! Severus Snape! You have to come to me. Come back to me!_  
  
It was no use. He could not resist her, not when her presence flooded his mind and body with such powerful, warm relief. He stopped and let her meet him.  
  
 _Professor Snape?_  
  
Her presence consumed his mind. He mentally shuddered with the effort it took not to give up all control and let her see the truth about the past few days.  
  
 _Go,_ he managed to think.  
  
 _Professor! I can hear you! You’re back.  
  
Go – away._  
  
He could not take it much longer. She must get out of his mind!  
  
 _Professor you don’t understand, you’ve been –  
  
LEAVE ME,_ Severus roared at her, but it was more of a plea than an order. He tore himself away from her and tried to shut her out again, but she would have none of it.  
  
“NO!” _NO!_  
  
The word echoed in his eardrums as well as in his mind. She was frantic. Two fists slammed into his chest.  
  
 _Severus! Severus! Please don’t GO!_  
  
Then the flood came. He was battered and torn by her raw emotion. He did not know what it was that assaulted him, but it was fierce and desperate. It was grief and shame and hope and anger and bitterness and sorrow and… how could one person feel so many things at once?  
  
She clung to him, physically and mentally, and he could not escape. She was sobbing on his shoulder, curled up on the bed beside him, one hand full of his twisted robes. She was speaking out loud.  
  
“Stay with me, stay with me… I’m sorry I had to leave… I’ll never leave again, you have to stay with me… please, Professor. Just stay… stay…”  
  
 _Hermione,_ he thought, so faintly he was not sure she would hear him. She did. She sat bolt upright, eyes wide.  
  
 _Professor!_  
  
Her eyes were puffy and streaked with makeup, and her hair was a nest of tangles. There was a bit of something that looked like a leaf stuck behind her ear. She placed a hand on his chest, which was unmoving. His heart beat faintly. She smiled, watery eyes leaking onto her cheeks.  
  
 _It’s going to be all right,_ she thought. _I’m not going to leave again._  
  
Severus had to get rid of her. He had to.  
  
 _You must leave, Granger,_ he thought. _You MUST GO._  
  
She sniffed and wiped her face with a sleeve, still smiling at him.  
  
 _You don’t understand,_ she said. _Fawkes brought me here. He came to the ceremony to get me. I’m not going anywhere._  
  
She shifted her weight and pulled her legs under her on the bed.  
  
 _Do you remember anything that’s gone on since this happened to you?_  
  
She refused to understand him.  
  
 _Listen to me, Granger!_ he thought. _If you want to live you will leave me today and never return. Do you understand? I don’t want you here.  
  
What? No! You’re going to get better… just like I did. Don’t talk like that!  
  
There is no cure for this curse, foolish girl!_ Severus snapped at her. _It will have one of us in the end! For the moment it has taken me. You may yet escape. You must go. Leave me. Do not return. It is the only way you can be free._  
  
She stared at him in shock. She shook her head before burying it in the covers by his shoulder. The bed trembled, and he realized she was sobbing.  
  
 _No! No, I won’t… I can’t... there must be something. You said every curse has a counter curse! Bill's come and once you see what he was able to do, you'll understand...you can't give up now!_  
  
Her anguish was agony to Severus as well. He could feel it as clearly as if it were his own. She was bent over him again, her tears dripping onto his face.  
  
 _So you didn’t talk to me on purpose,_ she thought. _You’ve been trying to make me leave you. You would do that for me…_  
  
Her presence was blinding, burning, so overwhelming that Severus thought his mind would melt into incoherence soon. It was at once the best and worst feeling he had ever experienced. Then, he felt like he’d been slapped... mentally, of course.  
  
 _I’m not going anywhere! I don’t want to be free if it means leaving you to die – and that’s what you think will happen, isn’t it? How could you think I would desert you? I’m not a murderer!_  
  
Severus' anger returned at the word 'murderer'. He hated that word. He thundered at her.  
  
 _I WILL TAKE THE CURSE THAT WAS MEANT FOR ME!_  
  
She closed her eyes and drew a breath.  
  
 _No. I won’t let you._  
  
Severus began to shut her out again, but then a bright flash of light erupted from somewhere behind Hermione’s head. Hermione withdrew from his mind, her attention directed across the room to the rose window, where a figure was silhouetted, holding a camera.  
  
“You!” Hermione hissed. The woman laughed.  
  
“Forgive the interruption, Hermione,” she said. “But I couldn’t resist – the photo will be priceless!”  
  
Hermione jumped off of the bed.  
  
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to, Skeeter? Or is the money worth a cell in Azkaban?”  
  
Skeeter laughed again, a rough, brazen cackle.  
  
“Oh, yes, the money will be worth it! However, I won’t be spending time in Azkaban, _Miss Granger._ But I suppose you wouldn’t know – I became a registered Animagus last year. I took the licensing class at the Ministry and passed with flying colors.” She chuckled. “Imagine that.”  
  
Hermione stood with her back to the bed, arms folded in front of her.  
  
“I’ll report you for this,” she said. “It's misuse of your Animagus form.”  
  
Skeeter just smiled at her and adjusted her bejeweled spectacles.  
  
“A slap on the wrist,” she said. “Reporters have been doing it for years. Being unregistered gave me a nice advantage over the competition, though. Once it gets out that a reporter is an Animagus, you can bet your broom that every other paper will be scrambling get one on staff.”  
  
She shrugged and picked at her long, red nails.  
  
“I was the best-paid reporter at _The Prophet_ for twelve years! Saunders knew how lucky he was to have me, but now…”  
  
Skeeter held up her camera.  
  
“This all I need – and I’ll make them beg me for it!”  
  
Hermione seemed to have forgotten her wand. She had been surreptitiously searching her robes while Skeeter spoke, but her hands were still empty.  
  
“You really think you’ll get that much money for a photo?” Hermione asked.  
  
“The photo, the exclusive interview from inside Hogwarts days before _The Prophet_ gets theirs… oh yes, someone will pay me a lot of money to scoop _The Prophet_ ,” said Skeeter. “They’ll be sorry they shoved Rita Skeeter to the fifth page, writing sappy drivel for teenage girls to sigh over!”  
  
“That was you!” Hermione laughed maniacally. “ _You’re_ Doe Wren?!”  
  
Skeeter glared at her.  
  
“Yes, Miss Granger, you could say that I wrote those articles, though the pretty young thing who’s editor now might as well have held my quill and signed her own name at the bottom!”  
  
Hermione took a step toward Skeeter.  
  
“So, you want an interview. What makes you think I’ll talk?”  
  
Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes quill was out in a flash.  
  
“What makes you think I need you to talk?”  
  
Skeeter advanced on Hermione like a hungry animal.  
  
“Hermione, it seems you are very close to Professor Snape. Weeping on his chest, begging him to not to die… how long have you been in love with your Professor?”  
  
Hermione did not reply.  
  
“Quite some time, then,” said Skeeter, raising her eyebrows. “It would seem the rumors are true. You saved him because you could not bear to live without him. You would have rather died. How pathetically romantic.”  
  
Skeeter stopped and leered at Severus.  
  
“In love with a man old enough to be your father, dear me… and with such a dark past… but then, what young girl wouldn’t be intrigued?”  
  
She started pacing a circle around Hermione.  
  
“Such a strong attachment couldn’t be one-sided,” she mused, smiling wickedly. “Did he seduce you?”  
  
Still, Hermione refused to speak. Skeeter stopped by Severus’ bed.  
  
“Tsk, tsk, Severus,” she said, patting his cheek. Hermione was seething, her rage streaking out of her like beams of light, it seemed to Severus.  
  
“STOP IT!”  
  
Skeeter turned around.  
  
“Oh? Ready to talk? I can give a proper interview, Hermione. I have no particular interest in… misrepresenting you, but I will have a story before I leave and I don’t intend to stay long.”  
  
“I’m not giving you an interview, you greedy bitch,” Hermione ground out, lunging for the camera.  
  
Skeeter pulled out her wand.  
  
“I don’t think so, Miss Granger! Sit down!”  
  
She smashed the chair by the bed into the back of Hermione’s legs, making her fall into it heavily. Skeeter pulled up another chair beside her and sat down.  
  
“So, tell me, Hermione, what exactly is going on here? How did you come to switch places with Professor Snape? What is our dark hero really like?”  
  
Hermione stared straight ahead without speaking for a minute. Skeeter examined her nails again as she waited.  
  
“You want to know what he’s really like?” asked Hermione at last. Skeeter uncrossed and re-crossed her legs impatiently, quill at the ready. Hermione stood up and went to Severus’ side.  
  
“He read to me,” said Hermione. “Even though the Healers said I couldn’t hear him. He talked to me. He got angry when my friends didn’t visit. He said he would never give up trying to help me.”  
  
The quick quill was flying over the page of Rita Skeeter’s notebook while she stared at Hermione.  
  
“I don’t know how he took the curse from me,” said Hermione. “But I know what it’s like to be in that bed, and I will never leave him, not as long as I live.”  
  
Severus was defeated by her words. He had failed. Hermione was doomed. Yet he was happy, so selfishly happy.  
  
“What else, Granger? I need more than that!”  
  
Hermione was silent for a moment.  
  
“You want more? Okay. Get your camera, Rita Skeeter,” she said quietly. “You’re going to want a close-up of this.”  
  
Skeeter was by the bed in an instant, camera in hand. Hermione crawled onto the bed again and looked into Severus’ eyes nervously. She swept her hair back and leaned over until her face was inches from his. Skeeter’s flash went off twice. Hermione shut her eyes. It was not until her lips meet his that Severus realized what she was doing. The flash went off again.  
  
His mouth burned from her touch. His mind was overwhelmed with shock and with the warmth of her presence. She was so beautiful – not her face, which was too close for him to see, but her mind, which was much closer. She was both searing and radiant, a shimmering sun. Her emotions were too fierce and strange for him to understand as they poured into his mind, but they made him feel alive, like he could jump out of the bed and run laps around the room. A great rush of magic welled up in his chest. He could not hold it back. Something inside him gave way and the entire room seemed to shudder as an enormous surge of energy burst from him and dissipated.  
  
A shriek from Rita Skeeter brought Severus to his senses. He was now sitting up in the bed with a hysterical Hermione in his lap. He looked over at Skeeter, who was as white as a sheet, and promptly grabbed the camera out of her hands. She shrieked again and scampered backwards. Severus threw Hermione off the bed and swooped down on the reporter, whose short, fat wand was pointed at him. He took it from her and held it to her throat.  
  
“Please,” she choked out. “Don’t kill me!”  
  
Severus laughed. Skeeter squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered.  
  
“I’m not going to kill you, Ms. Skeeter,” he said darkly. “But... I do plan to make you suffer.”  
  
In one smooth movement, Severus flicked his wand at her to force the transformation, and then quickly conjured a jar around the beetle that had appeared in her place. He picked it up and cast a containment charm on it while the beetle scurried in circles.  
  
“Air holes,” said a strangled voice from the bed. Hermione was sitting on the rumpled mess of bedclothes he had left behind, staring at him. He pointed the wand at the jar and a spattering of tiny pinpricks appeared on the lid. He looked at Hermione again, unable to speak. What should he say? ‘Thank you’ seemed inappropriate, but nothing else came to mind.  
  
Someone began beating on the locked door of the infirmary, drawing his attention to the muffled argument taking place on the other side of the door.  
  
“I didn’t lock it!” said Jenkins quite loudly. “If I had, I’d be able to open it, wouldn’t I?”  
  
“Stand back, gentlemen!” McGonagall’s steely order rang out. The door was blasted off its hinges. It slammed into the floor to reveal McGonagall, wand raised, with Truno by her side.  
  
“Thank you, Truno… ” said McGonagall after a few seconds of shocked silence, though whether it was due to Truno knocking the door down, or the sight of Severus standing in the middle of the room, it was hard to say.  
  
“Severus? Hermione?”  
  
The Healers crept into the room behind McGonagall, mouths agape.  
  
“What's happened?” McGonagall’s eyes came to rest on the jar in Severus’ hands, and then on Hermione, who was standing by the bed.  
  
“Fawkes brought me here, Professor,” she said, glancing at Severus in terror, “And then… and then…”  
  
 _Tell her you don’t remember, Granger._  
  
Hermione frowned at the floor before raising her eyes first to Severus, then to McGonagall.  
  
“I don’t remember. When I got here, Professor Snape was alone. After that, I don’t remember. I guess the shock of him waking up was… er… shocking.”  
  
McGonagall nodded curtly and looked around the room.  
  
“Where is Fawkes?”  
  
“I…” Hermione frowned again, this time genuinely confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I suppose he just dropped me here and left.”  
  
McGonagall looked back at Severus.  
  
“Poppy?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Madam Pomfrey had arrived as well.  
  
“Make up a bed for Miss Granger. Severus, I think perhaps you should sit down.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey hurried out of the room, and Leatherby found his voice.  
  
“Jenkins, you see to Miss Granger. I’ll examine Professor Snape.”  
  
McGonagall looked at him sharply.  
  
“Healer Leatherby, you will do nothing of the sort. Your services are no longer needed. You may return to St. Mungo’s.”  
  
“I beg your pardon! Professor McGonagall, people don’t just recover from this sort of thing! They may still be in danger.”  
  
Madam Pomfrey returned, took Hermione by the arm, and led her out of the room.  
  
“Come dear, you’ll feel better soon. Just a little rest and then we’ll sort this out.”  
  
“I insist on examining Professor Snape,” Leatherby was saying to McGonagall. “You must allow me –”  
  
“No,” said Severus. “There will be no questions, and no examinations. I wish to be alone.”  
  
The Healers stared at him, and Leatherby started to protest.  
  
“OUT!” snarled Severus, advancing on them. McGonagall stepped in between him and the Healers with a look of warning.  
  
“I think it would be best if you left for now,” she said to Leatherby. “I will inform Healer Minkas if anything changes.”  
  
McGonagall ushered the Healers out of the room, snapping the door back on its hinges as she went. When they were gone, Severus placed the jar with Skeeter in it on the windowsill and picked the camera up from the floor. He shrunk it and tucked it into his pocket, and then he sat on the bed dumbly. He was free, Hermione was free, and he did not understand how.  
  
The door opened again. McGonagall entered and closed it behind her.  
  
“Severus.”  
  
He stood.  
  
“Minerva.”  
  
McGonagall took a few steps toward him.  
  
“Hermione can hardly speak in complete sentences, and says she can’t remember anything. What happened?”  
  
Severus met her eyes steadily.  
  
“I was woken from semi-consciousness by Miss Granger’s rather frantic reaction to my physical state on her return. She fainted. It was then that I found I was no longer incapacitated by the curse. I revived her. You arrived shortly after.”  
  
McGonagall searched his face suspiciously.  
  
“You’re not telling me the whole story, Severus.”  
  
He did not answer her, just watched her as she tried to decide which question to ask next.  
  
“Where did the beetle come from?”  
  
Severus had been expecting that one. He glanced at the jar on the windowsill.  
  
“Ah, yes. The beetle is, in fact, a reporter. Ms. Rita Skeeter.”  
  
“How did she get in the jar?”  
  
Severus felt his mind begin to work again, begin to piece together a story for McGonagall. The truth would not do – all Severus could think of was what McGonagall had said to him the day the first article was printed: “I had better not catch you kissing a student!” At risk of smirking at the irony, Severus forced himself to think about the matter at hand.  
  
“It was I who put her there. She was attempting to blackmail Miss Granger. I believe she may have performed a spell on Miss Granger that caused her to faint – possibly a poorly cast Obliviate.”  
  
McGonagall pursed her lips.  
  
“I see. Have you any idea how she got inside the castle?”  
  
Severus thought for a moment.  
  
“She came in Miss Granger’s hair.”  
  
McGonagall’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“Beck!” she said without explanation. “What did Skeeter want?”  
  
“Revenge, it would seem,” said Severus. “Money, fame, the usual… though the photograph was her chief purpose in coming, to be sure.”  
  
“Photograph?”  
  
Severus began to pace back and forth.  
  
“Indeed. She claimed that she wanted an interview. She brought a camera. She undoubtedly got more than she had hoped for. Miss Granger’s reaction upon seeing me was rather... extreme. She had thrown herself onto the bed with me in her distress...”  
  
McGonagall’s eyebrows twitched upward at this, but she did not interrupt him.  
  
“…and it was in this compromising position that Ms. Skeeter and her camera found us. She told Miss Granger that she planned to sell an exclusive interview to a rival paper before _The Prophet_ printed theirs.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Silence followed.  
  
“What do you plan to do with her?”  
  
Severus considered the question.  
  
“Expose her to the public as an Animagus,” he said. “And let her go.”  
  
He would have to make a few alterations to her memory first, but McGonagall did not need to know that.  
  
“That’s remarkably merciful of you, Severus.”  
  
He smirked.  
  
“And from this day on I will be sure to kill every last beetle I come across.”  
  
Rita Skeeter sat very still inside her jar.  
  
“It is a shame we can’t leave her in that jar,” said McGonagall. “I’d like to see her face some sort of incarceration. The most the Ministry will do is fine her.”  
  
Severus picked up the jar and drummed his fingers lightly on the side.  
  
“It would be unwise to let her go before the first interviews are published.”  
  
“I agree, Severus – that would be unwise – but I’ll leave it to you to decide. You are still the headmaster of this school, after all. I did not take the oath today after Miss Granger disappeared with Fawkes.”  
  
“I see,” said Severus.  
  
“Filius has not been sworn in yet either, but he has been acting as deputy and is prepared to do whatever you need of him.”  
  
Severus had forgotten that McGonagall would have chosen another head of house to fill her position as deputy headmistress. Before he had been overcome by the curse, they had fallen naturally into joint leadership; or rather, she had continued to lead, dragging him along with her and forcing him to make decisions while he was preoccupied with Hermione. Severus had never considered anyone else for the position. Flitwick was too soft and flighty, and Pomona would not want to give up her time in the greenhouses. Minerva was experienced, sharp as a tack, had a shrewd understanding of politics, and probably knew more about Albus' relationship with the Ministry than Severus did. Not to mention, she would do all the work and Severus would get the credit, a prospect to good to pass up.  
  
“Flitwick, Minerva? I think not. You might have the patience to listen to his inane chatter day in and day out, but I would be sorely tempted to set his tongue to the roof of his mouth with a permanent sticking charm after three hours.”  
  
McGonagall huffed. “Really, Severus, Filius knows better than to force conversation on you – he would make a fine deputy head.”  
  
“He would be fine, perhaps,” said Severus, “But he’s not a tenth as capable as you. Why should I put up with his incessant cheeriness when you’re available? Don’t tell me you want to give up deputy now as well? Next you’ll tell me you want to retire.”  
  
McGonagall was speechless for a moment before saying, “Don’t think I haven’t considered it, Severus! But no, of course I don’t want to give up the position. I simply couldn’t assume that you would want me as deputy, and now that Filius has been expecting the promotion…”  
  
“I would have thought you’d want Pomona. She’s got more sense than Flitwick, even if she cares more about her plants than her students.”  
  
McGonagall sighed. “I asked her first, of course. She said she didn’t have time to do my dirty work – she’s 'too busy shoveling her own manure in the greenhouses'.”  
  
“You will be deputy, to begin acting immediately,” said Severus.  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Severus knew that she was pleased, though her countenance was as severe as ever.  
  
“And if I am rendered incapable of performing my office as headmaster,” said Severus. “I would trust none but you to lead in my place.”  
  
Her expression did soften then, and she looked worried.  
  
“So you have no explanation for what happened with Miss Granger? We had hoped you knew something. She was driving herself mad trying to reach you with Legilimency. But you have nothing – you think you may relapse?”  
  
“No,” said Severus. He was certain that the kiss had broken the curse, though he felt ridiculous for even thinking it.  
  
“I feel that the curse has lost its power over us, but I do not know whether it is intuition or a fool’s wish.”  
  
“It is so strange,” said McGonagall. “There is no logic in this curse. It defies magic as we know it! The connection between you and Miss Granger was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Severus was silent. The connection was gone, he was sure of it. It had gone with the curse, expelled from his body on that great surge of power that had shaken the room.  
  
“Let us see how Miss Granger fares,” was all he said. McGonagall followed him into the hall, where they met Madam Pomfrey.  
  
“She’s sleeping,” she said quickly, seeing McGonagall’s expression. “She’s tossing and turning in the bed, worrying herself to death about you, Severus. She made me promise to come find you. She fell asleep after two sips of the calming draught I gave her.”  
  
Severus nodded. “She’s not been sleeping well, and today’s events were taxing. I believe the connection allowed her to pour all of her energy into healing me. If she has not returned to the cursed state yet, there is hope.”  
  
It was not the kiss. That simply had to have been a coincidence. It had represented her deep desire to heal him, perhaps, but it was not actually responsible for breaking the curse.  
  
The three of them went to observe Hermione sleeping. She was in a fitful sleep, her brow creased and her body restless. Severus watched her until she seemed to find a comfortable position, curled on one side with her arms cradled to her chest. She was still frowning. Severus reached out and brushed his fingers over her forehead. It was cool. No unbearable heat rose at the touch of their skin. The connection was gone.  
  
Hermione sighed and her eyes opened slowly. She stared at him without blinking and then closed her eyes again, a slight smile turning up the corners of her mouth.  
  
Severus left her sleeping much more soundly than when he had come. He collected the jar from the windowsill and took it to his office, where he strengthened the containment spells on it and cast a few darker ones that would warn him if she tried to escape. He did not have the energy to perform the memory modifications that day. Besides, he had said he would make her suffer, and what better way than to let her keep her memories until he was ready to release her? He would make her regret her actions, even if he was going to effectively erase them from existence in a few days.  
  
It was a full week before Rita Skeeter woke in a bar in Diagon Alley with a large knot on her head. She had toppled right off of her barstool and hit her head on the counter as she fell, or so the bartender told her when he revived her. She could not even remember what day it was, but then, she had been well in her cups.  
  
“Now, listen here, Ms. Skeeter, it’s a right shame what they’ve done to you at the paper, but you ough’ta lay off the drink for a bit. An' perhaps see a Healer for yer head.”  
  
“How do you know what the paper’s done to me?” she exclaimed, and winced as her head throbbed.  
  
“Why, yeh told me yerself! Yeh’ve been in here every day this week, drownin’ yer sorrows, Ms. Skeeter. I’m not one for tellin’ people what to do… but I think yeh should sober up tonight and take a strong sleeping draught in the mornin’ and plenty o’ water with it, of course.”  
  
It was not the first time alcohol had erased chunks of time from Rita’s memory. The last thing she remembered was watching Beck leave the office on assignment at the Ministry’s ceremony for Professor Snape, and thinking that she needed a stiff drink.  
  
She took the barman’s advice, returned to the paper two days later and groveled for her job, saying she had been too sick to owl. Joann had reamed her for an hour before sending her back to her desk. Apparently, Rita had disappeared the morning of the ceremony and had not been seen since. None of the young new reporters would have been caught dead at the sleazy little bar she frequented, so she had spent a very happy week without seeing any of their faces.  
  
The next time she went to the bar, Sean the barman had pretended to know nothing about her last episode, like he did every time.  
  
Sometime during Rita’s lost week, an anonymous tip was sent into _The Magic Times_ and the paper ran an article about one of Britain’s newest Animagi, the controversial Rita Skeeter. A description of her beetle form was included, complete with photographs and a warning to the public to watch that _The Prophet_ did not have them ‘bugged’. It was the beginning of _The Times_ return to popularity. Before the Prophet, it had been wizarding Britain’s favorite paper.  
  
Severus, Hermione, and McGonagall each gave _The Prophet_ an exclusive, one-on-one interview, but not until three days after the ceremony. Hermione slept through the first day and night, waking in the morning fully recovered. Severus had fallen asleep in a chair by her bed, his neck stretched uncomfortably over the back of it, until he woke with a start.  
  
Hermione was sitting up in the bed watching him. She quickly hid a smile.  
  
“Good morning.”  
  
Severus rearranged himself into a more dignified position.  
  
“Miss Granger.”  
  
“How long did I sleep? What day is it?”  
  
“You slept through the night. Today is Thursday.”  
  
“Oh, good. I was worried it had been much longer.”  
  
Severus stood up.  
  
“It might easily have been longer. You were weak.”  
  
Hermione looked at him curiously. He stared back, at a loss for words, his face its usual impassive mask. She looked so young sitting on the bed looking up at him.  
  
“It feels odd to talk normally, doesn’t it?”  
  
It did.  
  
“Professor…” She searched his face, suddenly serious. He knew what she was going to ask. He could feel the question forming in her mind. “Why did – ”  
  
“I don’t know,” he said. Silence followed. She picked at the lint on her blanket.  
  
“Miss Granger,” said Severus at last. “What possessed you to – ?”  
  
“It was stupid, really,” she burst out, looking at him again, embarrassed. “I just thought that if I distracted her, I might be able to grab the camera… if she was close enough.”  
  
Another silence.  
  
“I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t going to actually do it, but then…”  
  
Her cheeks were pink and she would not meet his eyes.  
  
“I just felt like… like I should… like you – uh – needed me too.”  
  
Severus just stared at her, his mind frozen with doubt, fighting against the only conclusion there was. It was not a kiss that had defeated the curse.  
  
It was love.  
  
 _Only if she returns his love,_ the prophecy had said.  
  
He was not in love with Hermione Granger, not the way he had loved Lily, not the way he had thought the prophecy meant he would love the ‘innocent woman’.  
  
He looked at her bowed head, thin, pale arms hugging her knees to her chest, the tip of her nose poking out from the mass of her hair. He did not want her, he did not desire her. The idea was absurd. But he did love her, and inexplicably, she loved him. She would have given up her freedom for him. He had never known that kind of love, not from a mother, nor a father, nor a friend.  
  
“Hermione.”  
  
Severus bent down next to the bed. He took her small, cool hands in his and made her look at him. He let her see into his mind and feel the gratitude that overwhelmed him, and when he was sure that she understood, he spoke.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
  
  
END BOOK ONE


End file.
